


Silly Blue Costume

by orphan_account



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 02:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4546686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke moves to Polis to work at the Daily Planet, a huge step up from the Ark Gazette. What she doesn't expect is to fall for her partner, famous Investigative Reporter Lexa Woods, and to get caught up in a conspiracy involving one of the wealthiest citizens of Polis: the elusive Cage Wallace. </p><p>(Or, the Superman AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clarke Griffin, from the Ark Gazette

**Author's Note:**

> If you've read my prompts, you'll recognize this story. I know people asked me to make this into a full fic, and unfortunately, this is not that. I just thought it'd be easier on you guys if I put all the Superman AU parts together and posted it this way. That being said, I'm going to write an epilogue that I hadn't intended initially. So it'll be longer! Yay? Anyway, I'm rambling. This is based off a post by emclainable on tumblr.

The clicking of keyboards, ringing of phones, and burr of the coffee machine fills the room, and Clarke instantly feels at home. She straightens her glasses, which are sliding down the bridge of her nose, and looks around in awe.

She is surrounded by a flurry of movement. Everyone is rushing about, doing something. Some are at their desks, writing furiously, others are talking on the phone, demanding quotes. The Editor-in-Chief, a tall, tough looking man named Jaha, is yelling at a reporter, gesturing to a paper on his desk every so often. Clarke grins, but moves further away from the editor's office, not wanting to be tempted into eavesdropping.

Slowly, balancing her box of things on one hand, Clarke passes by several cubicles before she finally finds the one she's looking for: Lexa Woods, Investigative Reporter. Even in Kansas, Lexa Woods is a legend—she'd singlehandedly brought down two corrupt CEOs, uncovered the truth about a cheating scandal, and had been the first to land a one-on-one interview with the rich, famous, and ever-elusive Cage Wallace.

Her cubicle is empty, but her laptop is on her desk, a blank word document open. Post-it notes litter the walls, and a journalism award leans haphazardly in the corner, like it was tossed there and forgotten. In fact, the only personal effect in her work space was a photo of her and older man with a long, messy beard.

"Can I help you?" Clarke turns, suddenly face to face with the great Lexa Woods herself. The reporter isn’t too tall, but she’s wiry, with loads of curly brown hair, and intelligent green eyes. She’s wearing a button up, its sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and a pair of slacks—all in all, a rather unassuming, normal-looking person (not at all the terrifying woman she’d imagined from the stories). Clarke feels her mouth go dry and blushes, holding out a hand.

"Hi! Uh, sorry. Wasn't snooping, promise. I'm Clarke." The name doesn't spark anything in the reporter's eyes, and Clarke assumes she hasn't been informed yet. "Uh, Clarke Griffin? I'm your new partner." Lexa stares at her outstretched hand blankly for a moment before sighing and setting her fresh cup of coffee on her desk and shaking Clarke’s hand quickly, like it's a chore and she just wants to get it over with.

"I don't have a partner," she says, wiping her hand on her shirt, which Clarke finds only slightly offensive. Mostly, she's in awe of the reporter and she doesn't quite care.

"Well, you do now!" She grins, but Lexa just stares at her impassively.

"You're a rookie. I have no time for rookies."

"Well, I'm not totally a rookie. I was the editor of the Ark Gazette." This makes Lexa snort.

"I'm sorry, the what?" Clarke blushes, no longer able to meet Lexa in the eyes.

"Small town paper. Jaha didn’t think it was impressive either.”

“This is punishment, isn’t it? For writing about the Kane scandal rather than that _ridiculous_ story about his favorite football team.” Clarke smiles awkwardly, pushing up her glasses again.

“I really wouldn’t know. I just do what I’m told.” This makes Lexa look at her curiously, her eyes narrowing, a finger tapping against the cubicle wall, almost like she’s unaware she’s doing it.

“Can you write?”

“I think.” Clarke stops, clears her throat, and shrugs. “I mean, Jaha said I was good.”

“Are you up for dangerous situations? Can you work under pressure?” Clarke digs her fingernails into her palm to keep from grinning stupidly at the questions, and nods. Lexa crosses her arms over her chest, still looking at Clarke curiously, her lips pulling down into a frown, like she’s not quite impressed. “Okay then, Clarke Griffin. Welcome to the Daily Planet.”

xxx

She gets through her first week in Polis relatively incident free. There was the robbery that she stopped fairly easily by melting the rubber soles of the thief’s shoes, slowing him down enough for the cops to catch up to him. And then she stopped a traffic accident by halting the car’s progress with one hand. She’s also vaguely sure a homeless man saw her flying over her building, but judging from the way he was swearing off alcohol and drugs, she feels it’s pretty safe to assume he’d considered it a hallucination.

Even work was excellent.

Lexa Woods lived up to her name. She was intense, stubborn, fiercely determined, and highly intelligent, and working with her was incredible. Clarke loved watching the way Lexa would latch onto a story, chase down leads, refuse to take no for an answer, and then return to her desk late at night, furiously typing away. And for the first few days, that’s all she did: watch. But then Lexa began pointing things out to her, giving her contact names, asking her to write certain sections of her articles, editing others.

“You won’t get a byline for a while. And I know how useless that can make you feel,” she’d say when she’d hand over her article for Clarke to go over. “This way, I get a second opinion, and you get practice.”

It’s the second week she’s in Polis that things fall apart.

First, her mother called (that should’ve been a warning, but Clarke was too excited about work, about how fun, exciting, and _new_ Polis was that she didn’t really stop to think about why her mother would call).

“Your father and I want to visit,” she said brightly, and Clarke had agreed, not thinking much of it. She regrets that now when her parents stand in her apartment, looking at the bare walls and mostly unfurnished place with identical looks of skepticism.

“I dunno, kiddo,” her father begins, grinning slightly. “This looks a little worn down. How much are you paying for this?”

“Is that why you’re here? To judge my apartment?” Her father laughs, his sense of humor always more in tune with her than her mother’s (who is frowning, eying the dishes that have accumulated in the sink with undisguised desire). “Mom, you’re not going to wash my dishes.”

“Yes, but—”

“I can do it myself. _Easily_.” This makes her parents turn to her, worry now adorning their faces.

“Yes, and that’s what we wanted to talk about,” he dad begins, no longer grinning. “Honey, it’s all over the internet. Some homeless guy saw a blonde girl flying over a building? A woman swears she saw a blonde girl stop a moving car with her bare hand? What’re you doing? You promised to lay low.” Clarke groans, throwing herself onto her couch.

“I _am_ laying low. This past week, there were _five_ bank robberies. And I only got the money back for one of them.” Her father opens his mouth, but it’s Clarke’s mother who speaks up first.

“Clarke, honey, we love you, and we think you’re incredibly special. But if anyone finds out about you…what do you think will happen?” Clarke nods, remembering the hundreds of lectures she’d gotten over the years:

_Don’t use your abilities to hurt others, Clarke, or you’ll be shipped off and experimented on._

_Don’t let anyone see your powers, Clarke, or you’ll be shipped off and experimented on._

_No, Clarke, you’re not allowed to cheat at softball, that’s not what your powers are for, they’ll ship you off to be experimented on._

She sighs, wishing her parents could’ve figured out what her powers _were_ for if not to cheat.

“I’m being careful,” she tells them carefully, smiling slightly to ease their worry. “I promise.” Clarke’s mother exhales, looking utterly relieved, and she walks over to pull Clarke into a hug. “We’ll see you for dinner Friday night, okay?” She nods and no one speaks of her powers for the rest of their visit.

Unfortunately, the reporter Jaha was yelling at the first day Clarke started at the Daily Planet, Monty, finds the stories about the blonde flying girl online. It causes a panic.

“I don’t care _what_ we have to do. We _gotta_ be the first to find out who this girl is, okay?” Jaha looks at all of them, and then turns to Lexa, his determined look mirrored on her face. “You got this, right, Woods?” She nods, not looking at Clarke, not noticing that Clarke just dropped all her papers at the prospect of _Lexa Woods_ searching for this ‘super’ girl—because if anyone could find her, it would be Lexa, and that’s the exact opposite of laying low.

“Yes sir. I got this,” Lexa says, and no one hears Clarke’s little groan of worry. 

xxx

She finds it with a note attached, her father’s scrawl practically illegible.

 _This was on you when we found you,_ the note reads. _Whatever you decide to do with you-know-what, we are so proud of you._ Clarke snorts despite herself. ‘You-know-what’ was code for her abilities, had been for as long as she could remember. Laughing again, Clarke sets aside the note and opens the box. Inside is a yellow diamond shaped piece of fabric, the likes of which Clarke has never seen before, with a large red ‘S’ embroidered over it. Clarke blinks several times in quick succession, utterly confused by why her father would give her a big ‘S,’ and how it was supposed to help her figure out what to do.

It takes her a second, but she remembers of the comic books they read together when she was younger, and his meaning suddenly becomes quite clear. Clarke grins, the idea taking root in her mind.

xxx

“Yes, and your father is very excited. I’m just not quite sure this is the _best_ idea, Clarke.”

“No one will know who I am!” Clarke exclaims into the telephone, hearing her father cheer in the background. “It’s perfect.”

“It’s _risky_.”

“It’s _brilliant_ ,” her father shouts, and Clarke can hear her mother shush him violently.

“Don’t encourage her, Jake.”

“Why not?” he asks, and Clarke knows she’s on speaker because he’s not shouting anymore. “You’re going to help a lot of people, kiddo.” Clarke just grins.

xxx

It’s a month after she moves to Polis that Jaha gathers them all in his office, a serious expression on his face.

“I’m ashamed,” he begins, shaking his head sadly, driving home the fact that he is ashamed. “A _superhero_ waltzes into our city, goes around saving people, is actually _liked_ by nearly everyone, and the Daily Planet still doesn’t have _anything_ on the girl. Who is she? Where did she come from? What’s the deal with the S? Why Polis? Why now?” He stops to take a breath and turns to Lexa, his eyes wide. “Come on, ace reporter. Why aren’t you doing your job?”

“She’s a ghost, Jaha,” Lexa snaps. “She can _fly_. How can you interview someone who flies?” Jaha shrugs.

“I don’t know! That’s why I’m the editor and you’re the reporter. Figure it out or you’re out a job.” He takes another deep breath, looking practically crazed for a moment. “I’m serious, people. I want the exclusive. The Daily Planet gets her, _no fucking exceptions._ ” He motions for them to leave, and Clarke follows Lexa back to her cubicle, feeling oddly guilty. On one hand, she didn’t want anyone to talk to her. On the other hand, she wasn’t willing to be the reason _Lexa Woods_ got fired.

“What’re you going to do?” Clarke asks nervously, watching as Lexa shrugs on her coat, muttering curses under her breath. Lexa’s irritated gaze lands on her and Clarke wishes she’d just walked away.

“I don’t know, Clarke. I just…” She shakes her head, and something about the way her shoulders are set makes Clarke step closer, placing a comforting hand on Lexa’s elbow. The reporter follows the movement with her eyes, but she doesn’t comment or pull away.

“You just what?” Lexa’s eyes come up and bore into Clarke’s.

“I just wish I wasn’t going to be fired, I guess.” She sighs and pulls away, heading towards the elevators before Clarke has a chance to comment. Clarke stands there for a moment before letting out a frustrated groan and going after her.

She takes the stairs, wanting to get to the first floor before Lexa. When the elevator dings and the doors open, Lexa looks visibly taken aback.

“How’d you get down here so fast?” she asks, her eyes narrowing. Clarke waves off her question.

“Look, I’ve got a lead. On the superhero or whatever,” she elaborates when Lexa just fixes her with a doubtful look.

“ _You_ got a lead?” Clarke rolls her eyes and nods.

“Yes. Apparently, she’s been talking to the homeless man who saw her first,” Clarke lies, trying to give her story as much credibility as she could. A witness no one trusted at first but turned out to be totally right was a perfect cover. “He says that she asked to meet you.”

“A woman who can _fly_ is sending me a message via a homeless man?”

“Maybe she wants to preserve her anonymity.”

“It sounds like a wild goose chase to me.” For once, Clarke is not amused by Lexa’s innate distrust of _everything_.

“How could it hurt? The worst that could happen is that she doesn’t show up.” Lexa’s eyes narrow, and Clarke can tell she’s finally bothering to consider the idea.

“You sure the lead is solid?” she asks after a long pause, pulling her jacket tighter around her, trying to stave off the cold as they exit the building. Clarke nods hurriedly.

“Yeah, positive,” she says, fumbling with her words only a little when Lexa grins widely at her. That’s when she realizes it: it isn’t guilt that compels her to help Lexa Woods.

“An interview with the girl who flies. It’s incredible that she chose _me_.”

“Not that incredible,” Clarke mutters, blushing when Lexa gives her an odd look. “It’s just that…well, you’re uh, you’re pretty great. And I’m sure even a flying person would realize that.” Lexa smiles, but she seems utterly focused on the task at hand, and Clarke’s words sort of awkwardly fall flat. She pushes up her glasses, suddenly feeling the urge to look away.

“So where do I meet her? Did the homeless man give a location?” Clarke doesn’t look up as she answers.

“She’ll find you.”

xxx

It’s nearly midnight when Clarke lands on Lexa’s balcony, knocking carefully on the glass so as not to break it. It only takes a second for the door to slide open, Lexa’s face appearing. She’s wearing pajamas, her hair is disheveled, and she shivers as the cold night air rushes into her apartment. 

“Willing to let me in, Ms. Woods?” Clarke asks, trying her hardest to suppress a smile (her stomach is doing a strange flipping thing, and once again, she’s struck by the knowledge that she is _not_ here because she felt guilty).

“I thought you wouldn’t show,” Lexa says, moving aside to let Clarke in. Her eyes are narrowed, and she looks more than a little doubtful about the whole thing, so Clarke rises a foot into the air, literally gliding over to the reporter’s couch. “Holy shit,” Lexa mutters, shaking her head. “I didn’t believe it, but I believe it now. Who are you? _What_ are you?” Clarke grins slightly.

“I don’t know. My parents—the people who raised me—found me. They said I fell from the sky.”

“So…you don’t know anything? About where you came from, who your real parents are? Any of that?” Clarke shakes her head and watches as Lexa stumbles over to her couch, collapsing there. “Wow.”

“Puts a damper on your article, doesn’t it? Having no backstory?”

“Who cares about the damn article? I just meant…wow, I’m _sorry_.” Clarke lands on her feet and moves to sit across from Lexa, studying her patiently. To her ultimate surprise, a flush appears on the reporter’s cheeks, and she looks uncomfortable. “Okay, uh, how old are you?”

“I don’t know. Probably no older than you.” Lexa grabs a notepad and begins to write Clarke’s words down, her pen moving at a furious pace.

“Where were you raised? Who raised you? Why come to Polis? Why use your powers to help people?” Clarke laughs, not realizing that Lexa _could_ be flustered, yet here was proof, right before her eyes.

“Well, I won’t answer the first two,” she says slowly, shrugging slightly. “I came to Polis because I wanted a change. And how else would I use my powers?”

“I don’t know, take over the world?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want the world.”

“What _do_ you want?” Lexa asks, latching on to the unspoken part of Clarke’s comment. She smiles, recognizing the tactic from the dozens of times she’d seen it used on others.

“What everyone else wants, I guess. To be happy.”

“Are you not happy?” Clarke smiles and doesn’t answer, bringing Lexa’s pen to a halt. “You’re not happy,” she repeats, this time stating a fact.

“I’m content. And for now that’s good enough.” Lexa puts down her notepad and her head tilts to the side, looking positively _heartbroken_ , thought Clarke can’t imagine why. All she knows is that Lexa’s cheeks still are flushed, that she keeps tucking her hair behind her ear, like she’s nervous, that her heart rate is much faster than normal (Clarke’s _never_ heard it beat so fast, not even when Lexa is in the middle of writing a story she’s incredibly excited about).

“What would it take for you to be happy?” she asks softly, leaning forward. Clarke is stumped; this isn’t something she’s ever thought about—something she ever even entertained. She just always assumed being content was enough.

“I don’t know.” She looks up and runs her fingers through her hair, thinking hard. “I guess…I want to belong. You know?”

“To be accepted?”

“Yeah, but more than that. I want to feel like there’s a point. To feel…complete, whole.” Lexa stares at her for a moment, not responding, not even bothering to pretend her eyes aren’t fixated on Clarke’s lips.

(For the third time, Clarke realizes that she most certainly didn’t want to help Lexa out of guilt).

“What does the ‘S’ stand for?” she asks, breaking the silence—and the moment—before leaning back into the couch. She grips at her pajama pants like she’s physically restraining herself, though from what, Clarke doesn’t know.

“I have no idea, Ms. Woods. I’m sure you’ll come up with something grand, though.” Lexa doesn’t speak up for a whole minute so Clarke stands and turns to leave. She’s about to fly off when Lexa calls out to her.

“Lexa. You can just call me Lexa,” she says, sounding a tad breathless. Clarke can’t help the wide grin, and the stuttering beat of her own heart—a beat that matches Lexa’s.

xxx 

“You see the headlines, Clarke?” Lexa asks, leaning over her cubicle and sticking her head into Clarke’s. It shocks her enough that she fumbles with her coffee mug, spilling the hot liquid everywhere. “It’s great, right?” Clarke nods quickly, mopping up the coffee while simultaneously pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“Told you the lead was good,” she says, grinning slightly when Lexa practically sighs in response.

“Oh man, Clarke, you should’ve _seen_ her.” She sighs again, this time wistfully—or as close to wistful as _Lexa Woods_ can get. “She’s beautiful. Blonde hair like yours, but she keeps it down.” Lexa studies her for a moment and frowns. “You ever think about not leaving it up? I think it’d look nice.”

“Oh no, that’s entirely too much effort for me.” Lexa laughs, running her fingers through her own hair and shaking her head.

“You believe in love at first sight, Clarke?” she asks, her eyes on the coffee stained paper on Clarke’s desk. The headline can still be read: _Sky Princess: Flying Woman Here to Protect Polis._ Underneath the headline, there’s a slightly blurry photo of Clarke flying through the sky, a photo she’s avoided looking at thus far. She turns to Lexa and smiles slightly.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Lexa hums and goes back to her work, leaving Clarke feeling rather confused.

But her heart swells.

 


	2. Clarke Griffin, klutz extraordinaire

Clarke stares at the man with the gun, unamused and unafraid.

“I’ll shoot!” he threatens, shouldering the bag of money, waving the pistol threateningly. Clarke very nearly rolls her eyes. She’s already late for work—Lexa will be _livid_ —and she doesn’t have time to humor the wannabe bank robber.

“Shoot,” she says, shrugging.

“I will!”

“Then do it.”

“I swear it, I will.” This time, Clarke does roll her eyes.

“I’m not stopping you, am I? Shoot already!” The man lets out a growl and pulls the trigger; the bullet bounces harmlessly somewhere off Clarke’s shoulder (he wasn’t just a shoddy bank robber, he was a shoddy shot too) and the man’s mouth falls open.

“What the hell?”

“Did the blue suit and big S not tip you off?” Clarke gestures to her ‘costume’ as her mother calls it, and looks back at the man. “Would anyone worried about a bullet wear this?”

“ _What are you_?” the man demands, and Clarke shrugs.

“I don’t know. But you’re a felon. And you’re going to prison.” The man raises his gun again, shaking his head vehemently.

“No, I’m not going anywhere! I’ll shoot!”

“We’ve already been through this—”

“—not you!” he interrupts, a sudden crazed gleam appearing in his eyes. “I’ll shoot _her_.” He grabs the woman nearest to him and drags her to her feet, pressing the gun to her temple. “Let me go, or she dies.” Clarke holds up her hands in surrender.

“You got me,” she says. The man nods smugly and shuffles towards the bank’s doors, the woman still held at gunpoint. She waits until an excited grin appears on his face (Clarke can’t _believe_ he actually thinks he’s getting away) before heating the gun until he drops it with a shout.

“What the—” His grip on the woman loosens and she struggles free. Before the would-be-could-be bank robber even knows what’s happening, Clarke is in front of him, the same ropes he used to tie up the bank’s security guard in her hands.

“This is how it’s going to work,” Clarke begins, easily dodging the man’s punch. “You’re going to sit tight here until the police come, got it?”

“No fucking way,” he snaps, and Clarke just sighs.

“You didn’t have a choice, actually.” She sees the flashing of camera phones as she ties up the bank robber, ignoring his protests and struggles the entire time. Without bothering to wait for the police (she can hear the sirens, she is sure they’re on the way), Clarke takes off.

She’s so late; Lexa will _kill_ her.

xxx

“What was the one rule we had, Griffin?”

“Always be here on time.”

“Always be here on time,” Lexa repeats, her eyes flashing. “While you were off doing whatever the hell you were doing, _Sky Princess_ was stopping a bank robbery. And we _missed_ the exclusive.”

“So Sky Princess stuck, did it?” She groans a little—she’d been hoping for something a little more hardcore. For whatever reason, ‘Sky Princess’ makes her imagine Cinderella in a spacesuit.

“You don’t like the name I gave her?” Lexa asks coolly, and Clarke holds up her hands in surrender.

“What? No, that’s not it at all.”

“So what is it?” Clarke racks her brain for an excuse, for a reason that would pacify Lexa enough to stop the glaring. She clears her throat nervously, straightens her glasses, and tugs on the sleeves of her sweater. “Well?” Lexa prods, clearly impatient.

“Sky Princess…stopped me in the street.” Lexa’s mouth falls open and she stares at Clarke with ill-concealed suspicion.

“She stopped… _you_?” Clarke nods shakily, playing with her cup of coffee (she’d only just managed to pour herself a cup and get to her desk before Lexa accosted her, fire in her eyes, the promise of punishment in her tone).

“Yeah, she said she was willing to give you another interview.”

“She stopped _you_ , to tell you that she’d give _me_ another interview?” Clarke blinks a few times, wondering if she sounds quite as stupid as Lexa’s making her sound.

“Uh, yes.” Lexa raises an eyebrow, and Clarke’s known her long enough to know that she’s in ‘reporter mode.’ This was the face of Lexa Woods before she unraveled Kane’s cheating scandal, this was the look in her eyes when she handed in the first ‘Sky Princess’ article to Jaha and was proclaimed the hero of the Daily Planet.

It’s the face of Lexa Woods before she called someone on their bullshit.

“Griffin—”

“She knew you were at work and didn’t want to impose!” Clarke interrupts, nearly sighing in relief when Lexa’s cheeks flush and she looks away, clearly flustered.

“She said that?” Lexa asks, and for whatever reason, Clarke feels a strange tug in her chest. She _likes_ Lexa Woods, far more than she’s willing to admit, and at first, Lexa’s fondness for _Sky Princess_ was exciting (because at first, Clarke and _Sky Princess_ were one and the same). Now, however, every time Lexa blushes or chats about _Sky Princess_ , Clarke wishes she’d never worn the stupid costume in the first place (because, as it turns out, they are _not_ one and the same).

Lexa Woods has a thing for the woman who flies through the air and saves lives. Why on earth would she be interested in the goofy, clumsy, and awkward rookie partner of hers?

“She did,” Clarke says, suddenly feeling stiff and bitter. It’s not Lexa’s fault—not really. She was the one who chose to wear a disguise, the one who thought she was being clever by hiding who she really was behind glasses. All Lexa did was like the better of the alter egos.

“Well then,” Lexa mutters, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear—a nervous tick of hers, Clarke’s noticed. “Wow. Another interview. It’ll be great for the paper.”

“And for you.” Lexa’s head snaps up, and she’s not quite able to hide the blush on her cheeks.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, her eyes narrowing. Clarke holds her hands up in surrender once more.

“Nothing, nevermind.” Lexa stares at her for a moment, but she’s clearly satisfied by whatever she sees on Clarke’s face because she drops it. Instead, she leans against the cubicle wall, pointing at the half finished article on Clarke’s desk.

“You keep using the word ‘inconceivable.’ Liked _The_ _Princess Bride_ as a kid?” Clarke laughs sheepishly and looks away, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Indubitably,” she says. To her ultimate surprise, Lexa lets out a chuckle. When Clarke looks back up, Lexa is trying her best to hide a smile.

“God, Clarke. You’re such a nerd.” But her tone is light and amused, and Clarke’s heart swells. “All right then, time for work. We have to write something on the failed bank robbery.” She walks over to her own cubicle, looking at Clarke from over the wall. “And next time you’re late, not even _Sky Princess_ will be able to save you.”

“Got it,” Clarke nods, schooling her features into a serious mask. But when Lexa sits down, clearly going to work, Clarke feels a grin spread over her face.

(And that’s when she knows she’s in trouble).

xxx 

“Gather ‘round, people!” Jaha calls, and Clarke steps closer to the large meeting room, standing among her coworkers, feeling just a tad claustrophobic by the fact that Lexa’s shoulder is brushing hers. “We’ve got important news. Monty?” Jaha turns to the young man and he shuffles forward nervously.

“Thank you, chief,” he mutters, but Jaha rolls his eyes and motions impatiently for Monty to go on. “Right, uh, well here’s the thing. Cage Wallace is suspected of some shady dealings with Red Enterprises.”

“How do we know that?” the international news writer asks, his arms crossed over his chest, his dark hair falling into his eyes. Clarke wonders how he manages to see anything at all.

“Lexa got the scoop from an officer in the police department—a source she refuses to name.” From beside her, Lexa lets out a loud snort.

“I’m not going to get my source _fired_ , Monty. We’ve been through this.” The room is filled momentarily with the sound of murmuring which Jaha puts a stop to by letting out an annoyed grunt. Monty smiles apologetically.

“Not criticizing you, Lexa. Just a comment.” Jaha grunts again, and Monty nods. “Right, sorry. Anyway, the gist of the lead was this: Red Enterprises has some ties to a pharmaceutical company that’s mass produced a bioweapon. They’ve unimaginatively named it _Red_.” A few people chuckle, but everyone mostly has a serious look on their face. The international news writer looks more than a little concerned. “According to our source, Wallace has purchased large quantities of this _Red_.”

“What’s he planning with it?” the dark haired man asks. He runs his fingers through his hair and it merely flops to the back before settling right back in front of his eyes.

“We don’t know,” Jaha says before Monty can open his mouth. “But whatever you’re working on now, scrap it. This is the story we’re going after. Blake, you and Miller get as much as you can on Red Enterprises and this pharmaceutical company. Woods, you and the rookie chase down Wallace.” He looks at them all, his eyes taking on a crazed gleam. “I want the Daily Planet to bring him down.”

“Sir, I think it would be better if I went after Red Enterprises. It was my source and my lead—”

“—sorry Woods. Blake’s got it.” The man with the dark hair puffs out his chest, and Clarke doesn’t need any of her powers to feel the anger rolling off Lexa in waves. “You’re the only one who’s managed to get a one-on-one with Wallace. So he’s yours.”

“I also was the only one with the one-on-one with Sky Princess. You don’t send me off to get her.” Jaha opens his mouth to answer, but Monty speaks up before him, shaking his head with a small frown.

“Is that the best name for her, Lexa? I would’ve gone with Superwoman. Or Supergirl. Sky Princess makes me think of Cinderella in a spacesuit,” he says and Clarke can’t help but snort. Lexa looks at her for a second, clearly offended, and then turns back to Jaha.

“But sir—”

“Woods, it’s not about you,” he snaps. “We want the scoop. Your career as a journalist comes _second_ to this paper. Got it?” Lexa clenches her fists but nods stiffly.

“Got it,” she hisses. Without bothering to wait to see if there was anything else, she spins on her heel and stalks out of the meeting room. After a second of silence, Monty clears his throat.

“She’s just passionate,” he says weakly. Blake snorts.

“How much do you guys want to bet that not only will she talk to Wallace, she’ll go after Red Enterprises too?” Jaha groans, as if he’s just realized Blake’s got a point (which is ridiculous, because anyone who’s known Lexa for just a second could’ve made the same exact point).

“Newbie, keep an eye on your partner, okay? Woods gets a little…invested. Don’t let it go too far.” Clarke nods and waits until Jaha dismisses them before she practically runs over to Lexa’s cubicle. The reporter is already furiously stuffing her bag with her things, simultaneously trying to pull on her jacket.

“Do you really not like the name Sky Princess?” she asks suddenly, struggling with the jacket’s sleeves. After only a second, Clarke takes pity on her and hesitantly steps forward to help, mostly sure that Lexa would push her away. To her surprise, not only does Lexa accept her help, she also flashes Clarke a grateful smile.

“It’s a good name.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” Clarke blushes and looks down, rubbing the back of her neck with one hand.

“It makes sense. Really. The name is fitting.”

“But?”

“I don’t know. Princess seems a little…well, princess-y.”

“Do you not like princesses?”

“When I was six, uh, yeah. Sure.”

“I bet _she_ likes it.” Clarke nearly laughs because, no, _she_ doesn’t like it. Instead, she just shrugs.

“Maybe. But she also flies around the city in a silly blue costume.”

“You’ve seen her in it, she looks great.” Lexa blinks, as if she’s just realized what she said, and a flush appears on her cheeks. She lets out a puff of air, blowing her hair out of her eyes. “Put on your coat. We have to go.” Clarke grins at the sudden briskness in Lexa’s tone, and she knows that the reporter has accidentally given away something she never intended to give away. Though Superwoman or Sky Princess (or whatever she was called) was entirely separate from Clarke Griffin, klutz extraordinaire, Clarke finds it more than a little amusing that the superhero can make Lexa Woods act flustered. (And if she feels a pang because she’s reminded again that the superhero is the one Lexa likes and _not_ the klutz extraordinaire, she dutifully ignores it).

“Lead the way, partner,” Clarke says, feeling her cheeks heat up when she realizes she’s put on a southern accent. Lexa looks up and bites her lip, clearly trying to check a smile.

“God, Clarke. You’re such a nerd.” Clarke’s heart thumps wildly in her chest because there’s more than amusement in Lexa’s tone. There’s fondness.

 xxx

“This is a bad idea.”

“That’s what I said, but she’s not listening to me.”

“She doesn’t listen to anyone, it’s her thing.”

“So how long have you known her? I’ve only been working with her for six months.” Lexa looks up from her phone long enough to glare at Clarke and her source (a young woman Lexa only allowed Clarke to meet after she swore she’d take the secret to her grave).

“I didn’t introduce you two for you to gossip. We’re here to work.” Her source snorts, her detective’s badge gleaming against the glare of the sun.

“I’m here to enjoy the show.”

“Octavia,” Lexa says lowly, a warning in her tone. The woman raises her hands in surrender and Clarke suddenly wonders if that’s an effect Lexa has on _everyone_ she meets.

“Look, Lexa, I’m glad you guys are looking into this. It’s why I told you. But tickling a sleeping dragon is probably not a good idea.” Clarke laughs and Lexa glares at them again.

“Great. I guess you two will get along great then.”

“You sound jealous, Lexa,” Octavia teases. Clarke laughs again, but to her ultimate surprise, Lexa’s heartbeat quickens. Her features are still as blank as ever (not counting the glare that’s a permanent fixture on her face), and overall, she just seems vaguely bored. But there’s no mistaking it—her heart rate is much higher than a moment ago.

“I take it you’re not going to stick around?” Lexa asks, ignoring Octavia’s comment entirely. The detective shrugs.

“Technically, I don’t have any reason to be here. Besides, if you guys screw up and make him suspect your on to him, I’d rather not have him think the police are involved too. Not yet, anyway.” Her voice is practically _dark_ by the end of her statement and Lexa gives her an approving look. Clarke pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, suddenly feeling vaguely nervous. She knows that should something happen, she can easily get herself and Lexa out of any trouble. What bothers her is that, should anything happen, she’ll be shipped off and experimented on. Even worse, _Lexa_ would know who she really was. “Right Clarke?” Octavia asks, breaking into her thoughts. Clarke looks up in surprise, not having realized that the detective had been talking.

“Sorry, what?”

“I’ll be waiting here. Lexa says you can whistle.” Clarke turns to Lexa in confusion, but the reporter is determinedly digging through her bag, refusing to look up as she speaks.

“You whistle all the time while you work. It’s annoying.” Octavia smirks and rolls her eyes.

“Anyway, the point is, if you need me, whistle. Lexa’s wearing a wire. I’ll hear you.”

“The plan was we just _talk_ to Cage Wallace.”

“Yeah, but Wallace is an idiot. He’ll probably be bursting to tell someone what he’s up to,” Lexa says offhandedly, clearly no longer interested in planning and itching to walk into Wallace’s office building. Octavia stretches out on the bench—chosen specifically because it was across the street and gave her an excellent vantage point of the building—and shakes her head.

“Don’t underestimate him, Lexa.”

“Don’t worry about me. Worry about yourself when Bellamy finds out you’re the source.”

“Oh shit, forgot about him. Do you think I should tell him or just wait till he finds out?”

“Either way, warn me? Your brother is going to be really upset with me in…” She checks her watch. “…oh, six hours? I’d rather not have you be another reason for him to hate me.”

“You went after Red Enterprises, didn’t you?” Clarke frowns for a second and then she finally connects all the dots.

“You’re _Blake’s_ sister?” She can’t help the slightly incredulous tone in her voice because Octavia is funny and laidback whereas Blake is serious and, from the little she’s seen of him, straight-laced.

“Yeah, Bellamy has that effect on people,” Octavia says with a grin, clearly knowing exactly what Clarke means.

“I take issue with his hair,” Clarke says and Octavia laughs.

“The flopping thing?”

“The _flopping_ thing!” Clarke opens her mouth to ask when he’s planning on getting a haircut when Lexa stands abruptly, her expression cold.

“If you two are done chatting, we have work to do.” Clarke stands as well, taking Lexa’s change in mood in stride. Octavia, however, raises an eyebrow, and when she stands, she leans over to whisper something in Lexa’s ear. Clarke tries her best not to listen ( _really_ ), but it’s to no avail. She hears it anyway:

“Guess you don’t just sound jealous.”

xxx

“Ms. Woods and Ms. Griffin, Mr. Wallace is in the middle of a phone call. He asks you be patient for just a moment longer.” Lexa nods stiffly and Clarke slouches even further into the ridiculously comfortable waiting room chair. She watches as the secretary walks back to his desk, surprised when Lexa growls under her breath.

“He’s doing this on purpose.”

“You think so?”

“Either that or he’s on the phone with the President. Damn, I wish I could hear what he was saying.” Clarke wonders if it would be worth coming up with a lie to explain how she knew Wallace was talking to some woman named Tsing about the death of several test subjects. She wonders if he’s stupid enough to talk about the bioweapon on his work phone.

“Probably talking to his girlfriend,” Clarke finally says, deciding against telling Lexa anything (she was sent to keep Lexa from going too crazy…she could just go after the lead on her own later).

“You haven’t _met_ Cage Wallace. He’s too creepy for a girlfriend.” 

“That’s unfortunate.”

“For who?”

“For him, I guess.” This makes Lexa smile and relax into her seat.

“Clarke, there’s something I wanted to ask you,” she says, her voice soft. When Clarke turns to look at her, her eyes are on the floor, a faint blush on her cheeks.

“Yeah?”

“Wou—”

“Ms. Woods?” the secretary interrupts, making both of them turn to him. “Mr. Wallace has agreed to see you.” Lexa stands immediately and gestures for Clarke to do the same. “Oh, sorry. He’s only willing to see you. Ms. Griffin will need to wait out here.”

“That wasn’t—” Lexa begins hotly, but Clarke stops her tirade by squeezing her wrist gently. Lexa’s eyes dart to hers.

“It’s fine. I wouldn’t have been useful anyway.” Lexa frowns but has no choice but to accept this change in plans and follow the secretary into Cage Wallace’s office. Before the door closes, she looks over to where Clarke is sitting, her normal mask slipping for just a second. Clarke lets out a sigh, sinks into her comfortable chair, closes her eyes, and settles down to listen to Lexa and Mr. Wallace’s conversation.

 At first it’s mostly boring. Lots of pleasantries, and to Clarke’s ultimate shock, a good deal of subtle flirting on Wallace’s part. She’s just ruminating over how Lexa was right about Cage Wallace’s creepiness when the conversation takes a bad turn.

“I don’t understand what you’re insinuating, Ms. Woods,” Wallace says. Clarke opens her eyes, looking through the wall to see him advancing towards Lexa a little threateningly. He’s relatively short, his hair gelled back, his eyes narrowed dangerously. Lexa merely sits in her chair without even flinching.

“It’s a yes or no question, Mr. Wallace. Do you have ties to Red Enterprises and the pharmaceutical company they own?”

“No.”

“None at all?”

“I just said no, didn’t I?” Lexa uncrosses and crosses her legs, and Clarke wishes she would stop acting so unbothered for just a second and pay closer attention to Cage Wallace’s clenched fists.

“So why do you have frequent calls to Dr. Tsing, the woman in charge of said pharmaceutical company?” Clarke nearly laughs; _of course_ Lexa would’ve done her research before she showed up here. It turned out she didn’t need Clarke at all.

“How do you know that?”

“Don’t you think you should be more worried about the fact that you’re conducting shady business deals on your work phone?”

“That’s it. This conversation is over. Get out of my office. Charles!” The secretary jumps to his feet and only moments later, he is leading a practically _gleeful_ Lexa out of Wallace’s office. It’s only when the elevator’s doors are closing on them that Clarke hears something that chills her to the bones: “Since that reporter is so interested in _Red,_ let her have a taste of it.”

xxx

Wallace doesn’t waste any time. The next day, when they’re leaving the Daily Planet late at night (a common occurrence for the two of them), three men in balaclavas surround them both, grabbing them and attempt to pull them into a van. Clarke easily breaks free, but before she can help Lexa, the men have dragged her into the van and have driven off.

Clarke growls as she tears off her shirt to reveal the blue suit beneath it.

It takes her less than a second to locate Lexa (she’s loud, shouting as much as she can), and it takes even less time for her reach the van, landing right in front of it and bringing it to a complete stop with one hand.

“Let her go,” Clarke says, loudly enough that she’s sure all the men in masks have heard her. There’s suddenly complete silence coming from the van.

“We get paid if we deliver. Move aside, alien freak,” the van’s driver hisses, sticking his arm out of the window and pointing a gun at her head. Clarke sighs as he pulls the trigger and the bullet bounces harmlessly off her.

“I get it, you guys don’t bother with reading the paper. But even word of mouth should’ve clued you in to this: bullets don’t hurt me.” She walks calmly over to the driver’s side and tears off his door, dragging him out of the van. “One last chance. Let her go.”

When only more silence meets her words, Clarke sighs and walks over to the back of the van, opening the doors. She’s greeted by a flurry of bullets, but all she can see is one of the men holding tightly onto Lexa, a hand pressed firmly against her mouth (most likely to prevent her from warning Clarke about their _stellar_ plan), her eyes wide with fear. Clarke snorts and grabs the closest man’s gun, twisting it out of his hand.

“Funny story. Even if you hit me with more than one bullet at a time, it still doesn’t hurt me.” She shoves the man who lost his weapon back, and the last two hold up their hands.

“Take her. She’s not worth this.” Clarke holds out her hand, helping Lexa amble out of the van. Without bothering to give the men a second glance, she wraps one arm around Lexa’s waist.

“Hold on,” she says, trying to ignore Lexa’s proximity, trying to ignore the fact that her heart is racing (remnants, she thinks, of the fear she felt when they were ambushed not ten minutes ago). Lexa nods shakily, wrapping her arms around Clarke’s neck and burying her face into Clarke’s shoulder. She doesn’t even pull away when her feet are no longer on the ground, when the cold night air is whipping against her.

“What about those men?” she asks, her voice muffled by the wind and the fact her face is still pressed against Clarke’s shoulder. “Will you just let them go free?”

“Of course not. I’ll find them later. After I know you’re safe.”

“A friend was with me, Clarke. Is she okay?” There’s a pang in Clarke’s chest when she hears herself being referred to as a ‘friend,’ but she pushes it away. She has more important things to worry about.

“She’s fine. She was the one who let me know you were in danger.” She lands on Lexa’s balcony as she speaks and pulls away gently.

“You’re always conveniently where Clarke is, aren’t you?” Clarke laughs a little, looking down and rubbing the back of her neck.

“I suppose,” she says after a second, looking up to see that Lexa is staring at her with amusement and fondness. “What?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just I never thought I’d be a damsel in distress. It’s embarrassing.” Lexa’s heart rate increases infinitesimally, and Clarke is confused.

“I’m sure it was just a one time thing,” she says, shrugging. “Are you okay?”

“A little shaken, but fine.” She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, smiling a little.

“Good.” They stare at each other for a moment and Clarke notices how close they still are. She takes a step back and then hovers about a foot off the floor. “Well, I have to go.”

“Right.”

“Take care of yourself, Lexa.” With one last smile, Clarke shoots off, intending to ensure tonight’s events were a one time thing.

xxx

He’s sitting at his desk when Clarke strolls in, her blue suit contrasting greatly with the beige walls and neutral colored décor.

“Who the hell are you?” he asks, standing immediately, his hand going for his phone.

“Don’t bother calling anyone. If I wanted to hurt you, you wouldn’t even have the time to dial the first number.”

“What do you want?” he asks, glaring at her.

“I know all about _Red_ , Cage Wallace. And I know you’re using Polis citizens as test subjects.” He pales considerably, but his eyes are still defiant. “I’m here to tell you that you better put an end to it.”

“Or what?” he asks, vocalizing the tacit portion of her comment. Clarke steps forward, takes the phone from his hand and crushes it, letting the pieces fall to his desk.

“Or I’ll put an end to it.”

“I don’t threaten easily,” he hisses, leaning forward. Clarke shrugs.

“This isn’t a threat. It’s a promise.” She turns and makes to leave when Cage Wallace speaks up.

“I’m not a good enemy to make, Sky Princess.” Clarke doesn’t turn around.

“Neither am I.”

 


	3. Clarke Griffin, Sky Princess

Lexa is different, and Clarke doesn’t understand why.

Her very first instinct was to blame the weird behavior on the attempted kidnapping. Yet, it occurred to her that it didn’t even _start_ until a week after that. They were having lunch together, going over articles as they were wont to do, when Clarke made an offhand comment that somehow got Lexa laughing. She’d chuckled awkwardly, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the way Lexa was looking at her.

After that, Lexa seemed…angry.

She became snappish, refused to listen to Clarke’s ideas, choosing to chase leads on her own and claiming it was because a rookie would only slow her down (Jaha, becoming increasingly frenzied over the Red and Cage Wallace situation and the fact that his paper had _still_ not published anything worthwhile on it, was quick to agree). It left Clarke feeling helpless, feeling like she had done something wrong without having actually _done_ anything at all.

Soon, however, Lexa’s anger faded into more of a muted dislike, as if she saw Clarke as something that needed fixing but couldn’t bring herself to actually do anything about it. Somehow, this hurt more than the anger (anger, Clarke has experience with. But dislike? She can’t quite remember when she was lastactively _disliked_ ).

Now, the dislike has given way to a third emotion: apathy. Clarke runs in late? Lexa doesn’t even bother with her normal lecture. Clarke asks if they should go over an article during lunch? Lexa shakes her head and says that she’s already eaten. Clarke tells her that Jaha still expects the interview with Sky Princess? Lexa shrugs, claiming any monkey with a pen could conduct an interview.

The change in Lexa is maddening, frustrating, but most of all (though not surprisingly at all), it is _heartbreaking_. It hurts Clarke, more than she’s willing to admit to herself, more than she thinks it technically should. She misses Lexa’s grin, the glow in her eyes as she chased after a story, the way they would spend their nights at work, eating take out and laughing about books they’ve read and things they’ve done.

Clarke _misses_ Lexa, and she doesn’t know what she’s done to lose her.

Her eyes (as they are wont to do) find Lexa—drawn to her as if by magic—watching while she bends over her laptop, face illuminated by the bright screen, headphones in her ears, fingers typing away furiously. There’s a determined sort of look on her face, and Clarke wants to smile. This is the Lexa she knows, the one she’s so fond of…the one who is not talking to her for some unknown reason. She’s thinking about anything she could have said or done to make Lexa act this way when she’s broken out of her reverie by Jaha.

“Where is it?” he barks, walking up to their cubicles, clearly infuriated.

“Where’s what?” Lexa asks, chewing on the end of a pen (a habit of hers that Clarke finds amusing), not looking up from her computer.

“The Sky Princess story. The interview you promised me.”

“You said to scrap everything and work the Cage Wallace angle.”

“And have you figured out anything new about that?” Lexa puts the pen down, facing Jaha for the first time.

“Well—”

“—we know that Wallace has definitely been in contact with the woman in charge of the pharmaceutical company. A Dr. Tsing.”

“And?” Jaha prompts. Lexa huffs, looking annoyed at Clarke’s interruption.

“He’s also partnered up with Red Enterprises to bring in those rare rocks from Europe for that gala he’s throwing,” she adds, but Jaha is unimpressed. He leans forward, gesturing for the two of them to do the same.

“Look. You two? My best team right now.” He closes his eyes briefly, taking in an exaggeratedly deep breath. “But all you have on Wallace is that he has a girlfriend and likes rocks.” He shakes his head. “Do the interview with Sky Princess.”

“Oh, come on, Jaha. You know Wallace is shady. We need to take him down!”

“No, we need to sell papers. Because that is what we do here, _sell papers_.” He rubs his temples, shaking his head some more. “I would _love_ to bring Wallace down. But not at the expense of this paper. So until you have something concrete, we’re going to go with what _sells_. And that’s the girl in the blue suit.”

“Then get someone else to write it!” Lexa protests, her face turning red. “Anyone can write it.”

“She only talks to you.”

“That’s not even a little true. Clarke,” Clarke blinks, surprised at being addressed by _Lexa_ , the sound of her name on the other girl’s lips sounding almost foreign. “Sky Princess will do the interview with you, right?” Clarke blinks again.

“Wait, what?”

“The interview. Sky Princess would do it with you, right?” Lexa looks annoyed by Clarke’s slowness and Jaha looks mildly worried, as if he’s suddenly rethinking his hiring choices. Clarke just swallows, desperate to find a way around this.

“I have spoken to her at all, really.” Lexa’s eyes narrow and Jaha practically lets out a growl.

“I don’t have time for this,” he says, straightening and looking down at Lexa. “I expect a draft on my desk in the morning, Woods.”

“On the Wallace story, got it.”

“Nice try. But you want to save the world, Woods? Go put on a costume and fly around with Sky Princess. But as long as you’re grounded, do the interview. Nice and long. Make it personal.” He turns and is gone without another word, leaving Lexa glaring at Clarke.

“It alreadyis personal,” she mutters.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you should’ve backed up your partner instead of lying. You should’ve just said you’d do the damn interview.”

“I thought you _liked_ Sky Princess. Besides, I told the truth. I _haven’t_ spoken to her.” Lexa opens her mouth to retort, but Clarke—for the first time more frustrated than sad at Lexa’s new behavior—speaks before the reporter gets the chance. “And we haven’t been much of anything lately, let alone _partners_.” She gets to her feet, grabbing her coffee mug off her table, and practically stomps away, wanting to clear her head. Yet, to her ultimate surprise, Lexa _follows_ her _._

“That’s the first logical thing out of your mouth. We _aren’t_ partners. I don’t think we ever have been.”

“No, I guess we haven’t,” Clarke snaps back, shoving the door to the empty break room open, heading towards the coffee maker.

“That’s how it is, huh?” Clarke puts her mug down on the table, turning to Lexa furiously, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“You’re the one being difficult, Lexa. All I wanted—” She never gets to say what she wanted because Lexa suddenly closes the distance between them, something strange in her eyes, and before Clarke can even register that Lexa is _far_ too close to be professional, the reporter’s mouth is on her own, kissing her.

After that initial moment of shock wears off, however, Clarke wastes no time to wrap her arms around Lexa’s waist, pulling her closer, and Lexa— _Lexa_ , who hasn’t spoken to her, who she was convinced _hated_ her—is playing with the hair at the nape of her neck, sending chills down her spine, backing her into the counter, never breaking the kiss. And though Clarke is preoccupied with the feeling of Lexa’s lips, with her warmth, with the way her body presses into her, the feeling of Lexa’s skin against hers firing up nerve endings that Clarke didn’t even know she _had,_ one single thought breaks through the haze: _this is it_. This is what she has been searching for, what makes her whole, complete—the _point_. This is _it_. (And _it_ is Lexa). So when Lexa breaks the kiss, the words are on her lips. She wants to say it, throwing caution to the wind. She just _desperately_ wants to say it— _needs_ to say it.

“Lexa, I—”

“I have to go,” she interrupts, taking several steps back. There’s a certain amount of shock on her face, like she can’t believe what she just did. “I, uh,” she frowns, like she can’t find the words, and Clarke wants to laugh at the fact that _Lexa_ is speechless (the only problem is, nothing about the situation is funny). “I have to go.” She straightens her shirt—which somehow got disheveled, Clarke is sure she doesn’t know _how_ —and is gone before Clarke can bother with coming up with a protest. Instead, she stands there in the empty break room, her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose, her lips tingling.

“—am Sky Princess,” she finishes lamely, her secret heard only by the coffee maker.

xxx

Lexa leaves early, telling Jaha she had to ‘meet Sky Princess for the fucking interview,’ making the Chief grin maniacally in response, telling her to leave faster and, “What the hell are you still doing here, Woods? I needed that article _yesterday_.” This sudden departure leaves Clarke feeling confused, but more importantly, just a tad satisfied. (Because _Lexa_ was nervous, was uncomfortable, so Clarke the klutz extraordinaire _must_ have induced some sort of feelings in the intrepid reporter. And if that wasn’t something Clarke could be proud of, she didn’t know what was). As she stares at her blank computer screen, however, she remembers Lexa’s odd mood and the way she _ran away_ after kissing Clarke, and all of a sudden, all the pleasant feelings in the pit of her stomach fall away and are replaced by a cold, deep, pervasive emptiness she isn’t quite sure how to fill.

“Moping, Griffin?”

“Go away, Blake. We had a deal. You don’t talk to me till you get a haircut.” Bellamy—who Clarke has been spending more and more time with since Lexa has chosen to ignore her—leans over Clarke’s shoulder, shaking his head like a dog, his hair flopping everywhere.

“I have something that’ll cheer you up, take your mind off your girlfriend.”

“Lexa’s not my girlfriend,” Clarke mutters automatically. Bellamy straightens, leaning against her cubicle wall, a grin on his face.

“Yeah, but you wish she were.” He must notice something on her face because he sighs, leaning slightly to put a hand on her shoulder, obviously trying to be comforting. “It’ll be fine. Whatever happened between you two, it’ll blow over. For now, how about you focus on the fact that I can get you in to see Cage Wallace’s rare rocks? And no, before you ask, that is _not_ an euphemism.”

“Wait, seriously?” Clarke sits up, straightening her glasses and motioning for Bellamy to continue.

“Yeah, sure, I hate euphemisms.”

“No, you moron, the other part.” Bellamy laughs, and Clarke can feel a smile pulling at her lips as well. Bellamy leans back again, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I know someone. She’s some kind of engineer contracted under Red Enterprises. Anyway, she said she can get you in.”

“I’ll tell Lexa.” Clarke makes to stand, but Bellamy shakes his head, pushing her gently back into her chair.

“No, Clarke, it’ll just be you. She can only get one person in.”

“And you’re just giving it to me? Just like that? This potentially huge story?” Bellamy shrugs, smiling slightly.

“They’re just rocks, Clarke. You’re not going not find anything.”

“But if it _is_ a shipment of Red, then—”

“—then you’ll have your first byline. And it’ll be wonderful for the paper and for you. And _maybe_ you’ll stop staring at Woods like she’s some sort of hero.”

“I like Lexa. She’s a good person.”

“Yeah, she is. But she’s also a reporter, and that comes first to her. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if she’s being distant because she sees you as competition. Because you’re good. Really.” Clarke frowns, remembering the press of Lexa’s lips, the faint taste of the chocolate she’d been snacking on earlier, the way her hands had pulled gently on Clarke’s hair, coaxing her mouth open…

“You’re wrong, Bellamy. Lexa’s not like that.” Bellamy holds up his hands in surrender.

“You know her better. But anyway, here’s the engineer’s name and phone number.” He hands her a small piece of paper. “Be careful, okay? Cage Wallace is a dangerous man.” Clarke grins at the comment, pocketing the contact’s details.

“Yeah, but I’m a good reporter, remember?” Bellamy chuckles lightly before giving her a mock salute and turning to leave. He’s gone several steps before Clarke calls out to him.

“Bellamy!” He turns with a frown. “Thanks. Really.”

“Don’t get too excited. It’ll just be some old rocks.” But he smiles at her, and Clarke guesses he knows exactly what she means.

xxx

“Wallace keeps some creepy shit over there, and it’s always pretty much closed off to everyone.” Raven—the engineer working for Cage Wallace—says, pointing to a large and heavy looking dark blue door. “The shipment is still in the loading dock at the back.” Clarke nods, tugging slightly on the cap Raven gave her to wear, wondering if this was such a good idea after all.

“Have you seen the boxes?”

“Yeah,” Raven says, grinning at Clarke. “Too big to be just ‘rare rocks’ like he’s claiming.” She stops suddenly, crossing her arms over her chest, eying Clarke curiously. “I’ll have you know, I don’t work for Wallace by choice.”

“I never said you did.” 

“Yeah, but you look skeptical. I wanted to plead my case before you decided to give me the guilty verdict.”

“I’m not judging you.”

“You should see your face,” Raven says, still grinning. “I mean, it’s fine. I know how it looks to you.”

“To me?”

“Well, yeah. Bellamy says you and your partner are like some sort of crusaders for justice or whatever. Really into your jobs.” Clarke laughs, shaking her head and motioning for Raven to keep walking.

“Sorry, but Bellamy’s just being an idiot. I like my job, but I’m not crusader for justice.” Raven snorts disbelievingly, but she lets it go, opening the door to the loading dock and leading Clarke past several large crates before they reach a smaller one.

“You know, the only one Bellamy liked at that place is Miller. But somehow you’ve gotten him to like you, so I figure you must be cool,” Raven says absentmindedly, prying open the crate. Clarke pulls out her phone and starts taking photos as Raven begins pulling out small metal boxes.

“So you’ve known Bellamy a while, right?”

“Oh yeah, since we were kids. Octavia, too.”

“You know, the way Bellamy described you, I thought he’d never met you before.” Raven laughs as she opens the first metal box’s latch. Inside, there’s a small rock, no bigger than Clarke’s fist. It’s deep blue, shiny, and most definitely not just a ‘rare rock.’ “Is this a sapphire? It’s huge.”

“Damn, how anticlimactic. I was hoping for some sort of unknown chemical or something, with a huge ‘Explosive’ warning written on the side.”

“Open the others, you may get your wish.” Raven nods and begins opening the others, but all they find are more gemstones of all types and colors. When she gets to the last box, Raven groans, the green gem lacking the warning she so desperately wanted to see. She makes to close it, but Clarke stops her, leaning closer to take a picture…only to collapse forward, suddenly feeling drained and weak.

“Oh shit, Clarke, you okay?” Raven asks, snapping the metal lid shut and reaching out to help her up. Clarke waves her off, taking a deep breath and wiping away the fine sheen of sweat that’s collected on her brow.

“I’m fine,” she mutters, unable to take her eyes off the last metal box. “I guess I had something bad to eat.” Raven looks worried, clearly about to protest, but Clarke is already feeling her strength returning, so she just smiles. “I guess this was a bust. He’s shady, but not as shady as we thought.” Raven eyes her, clearly torn between asking her if she was okay again and laughing.

“Yeah, though—” She cuts herself off as the door to the loading dock opens, and Cage Wallace himself strolls in, flanked on one side by his secretary, Charles, and a woman in a pantsuit on the other.

“Are you two supposed to be here?” he asks, eying their hats, and Clarke is suddenly glad that she didn’t meet with Cage Wallace with Lexa. If she had, not even a hat would have been enough to make her unrecognizable.

“Sinclair said we had a shipment, but I think I opened the wrong one,” Raven says, pointing to the crate they’d opened. Wallace’s eyes widen slightly.

“Engineering hasn’t gotten any shipments,” Charles says unhelpfully, and Wallace steps over to them, looking suspicious.

“Who are you?” he asks. Raven stands a little straighter.

“Raven Reyes,” she says firmly, like this should mean something to him, and evidently, it does, because Cage Wallace breaks out into a grin and turns to the woman in the pantsuit.

“This is her, Lorelei. The one who designed the item you needed.” The woman smiles, and Clarke suddenly realizes that she’s Dr. Tsing—the one working at the pharmaceutical company that _made_ Red.

“Well, Raven Reyes, you solved a problem that stumped a lot of smart people. Thank you,” she says. After an awkward pause, during which everyone waits for a reply from Raven—a reply that doesn’t seem very forthcoming—Wallace smiles again.

“Well, you heard Charles, Reyes. No shipments for Engineering. I’m sure Sinclair was mistaken.”

“I’m sure he was,” Raven says, her tone changing just slightly. “We’ll be going then.” He nods and Clarke immediately follows Raven towards the door.

“Hey, hold on.” Clarke swallows, preparing for the worst, preparing for Cage Wallace to have recognized her as Clarke Griffin the reporter—or even worse, as Sky Princess. She turns, surprised when she sees Wallace holding out her phone. “You forgot this,” he says, his eyes narrowed. She takes it with a smile then follows Raven out the door, walking only a few steps before leaning against the wall and pretending she’s out of breath.

“You made something for Dr. Tsing?” Clarke asks Raven, breathing deeply, all the while trying to listen to the conversation on the other side of the wall. _They saw the gems, Cage_ , Tsing is saying, sounding a little frustrated.

“Don’t get any ideas. I didn’t know what it was, and once I did, I immediately went to Octavia.”

“And when she couldn’t do anything, she went to Lexa,” Clarke finishes for her, shaking her head. _It doesn’t matter_ , Cage answers, _she doesn’t know what they are._

“Well, it’s not like the police could get involved. I had no proof—not even the item itself, just designs.” But Clarke is no longer listening to Raven—she’s entirely focused on Tsing’s response: _She designed the item, Cage. You think she can’t connect the dots?_

“The item. What was it? What’d you design?”

“A pressure-regulated sublimator.” At Clarke’s blank look, Raven elaborates. “It can turn a solid into a gas, even volatile ones.” She smiles slightly. “If they built it right, it can do it without wasting that much energy.” Clarke takes a deep breath, quelling the urge to switch to her alter ego and go after Cage Wallace right at that moment. “Clarke? What’s wrong?”

“I think…I think you came up with a way to aerosolize Red.”

xxx

When Clarke lands on Lexa’s balcony, her mind is on everything but the interview and Lexa’s weird behavior from earlier that day. She’s thinking of Raven’s wide eyes, of the way they decided to go to Octavia as soon as possible, how there’s absolutely no _proof_.

Most importantly, she’s thinking of the green gem, the one that made her feel weak, drained, _powerless_ , and for maybe the first time in her life, she’s _terrified._

“Oh. You’re here. I thought you’d stand me up,” Lexa says as she slides the door open,  breaking into Clarke’s thoughts, a displeased look on her face. “You know, have to go off and save the world or something.” Clarke frowns, pulled into the present despite all her worries.

“Have I done something to offend you?”

“Why would you ask that?” Lexa mutters, crossing her arms over her chest and turning. She flops onto her couch, and Clarke is slightly surprised to see a new side of Lexa. Her hair is in a single messy braid, her clothes wrinkled, her socks mismatched.

“You seem upset with me.”

“Do I?” Clarke sighs, suddenly realizing this was a very bad idea.

“I should probably go,” she says softly, taking a step back. “But for whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry for whatever it is I did.” Just as she’s about to turn, however, Lexa shakes her head.

“Wait. I’m sorry.” She looks down, staring at her fingers intently. “I’m not upset with you. Of course I’m not.” Lexa looks back up, a determined glint in her eyes. “There’s nothing to be upset about.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course,” Lexa says with a nod, sounding like she was trying to convince herself of that fact. Clarke studies her carefully for a moment then laughs, rubbing the back of her neck.

“I’m glad, I would hate to think you were upset with—” But she never gets to finish, because for the second time that day, Lexa is suddenly way too close, and Clarke can smell her perfume, and it’s overwhelming, and she wants Lexa to close the distance, _wants_ her—wants to feel Lexa lips against her own again (addicted after only one taste).

Yet, somehow, she feels that _should_ Lexa bridge the gap between them, it would be a betrayal.

Clarke waits with bated breath, still and desperate, terrified and heartbroken, when Lexa leans forward, her mouth by Clarke’s ear. “I have a thing,” she says, her hot breath against Clarke’s skin nearly breaking all of her resolve, “for a blonde reporter.” Clarke’s eyes widen, but Lexa doesn’t move away. “I could never be upset with her.”


	4. Clarke Griffin, wannabe vigilante

“How do you know the gems were Red?” Octavia asks, raising her eyebrows. She flips through the photos on Clarke’s phone, frowning, both of them ignoring the bustling noises of the diner. “These are not red.”

“I don’t know. But why else would they need Raven’s design?”

“Tsing works for a pharmaceutical company, Clarke. It could be for a million reasons.”

“If it was for anything legal, why are they being so secretive? More importantly, why involve Cage Wallace at all?” Octavia sighs, handing Clarke’s phone back, waving off the waitress who offers them refills of coffee.

“It’s suspicious, I’ll give you that. But Clarke, that’s all it is, _shady_. You have _no_ evidence—not even the device.” Clarke lifts her glasses just a little to rub her eyes tiredly.

“You sound like Lexa.”

“That should tell you something. If Lexa and I are both convinced—”

“—you’re both _wrong_. I _know_ something is up, and it’ll happen tonight, during the Gala.” Octavia looks at her pityingly, shaking her head before leaning forward, her arms folded on the table.

“You realize how you sound, don’t you? Are you _hearing_ yourself?”

“I know what it sounds like,” Clarke snaps, beginning to lose her patience with the detective. “But I have a good source.”

“A source you can’t even name! Look, Clarke, there’s no doubt in my mind that Wallace is doing something illegal, but what you’re talking about? That’s mass murder. Wallace is a lot of things, but he’s not a killer.” Clarke runs her fingers through her hair, tugging on it in frustration, itching to get away from Octavia and figure things out on her own. Unfortunately, she made a _promise_ , swearing she’d work _within_ the law (and she has never regretted a promise more).

“Please, Octavia. Trust me.” Octavia studies Clarke’s expression for a moment and then lets out a long-suffering sigh, digging through her pocket briefly.

“I do trust you, Clarke. Which is why I’ll convince the police chief to put extra security tonight. Indra owes me a favor anyway.” She gets to her feet, tossing a few bills onto the table. “But maybe you need to consider that you’re just rattled over what happened two days ago.”

“You know that no matter what it says in the papers that’s not how it happened, don’t you?” Octavia shrugs.

“Maybe. But that doesn’t change the fact that Supergirl or Sky Princess or whatever she’s called screwed up. And you and Lexa were her biggest supporters.” She shrugs again and turns to leave.

“You’re all fiddling while Rome burns, you know.” Octavia looks back with a sad smile.

“If it’s burning, it’s Supergirl’s fault.”  Clarke doesn’t call her back when she turns to leave. Instead, she buries her head in her arms, mumbling incoherently when the waitress comes back to ask if she wants a refill, all the while wondering how things had gone so utterly _wrong_.

 

**Three days earlier…**

“I have a thing,” Lexa says, her hot breath against Clarke’s ear, “for a blond reporter. I could never be upset with her.” Clarke takes several steps back immediately, her eyes wide.

“You _know_?” is all she can say, her voice shaking, her heart racing. Lexa, however, seems utterly calm, even _smug_ , and she crosses her arms over her chest, taking several steps forward and closing the distance between them once more.

“You think you’re _so_ clever,” she says, punctuating her words with a hard jab to Clarke’s sternum. “Putting your hair down, taking off the glasses, acting confident and charming, and you think you’ve got everyone fooled.” She jabs Clarke again, this time even harder. “What I _hate_ is that you relied on the fact that no one sees Clarke Griffin. No one pays her any attention. You’re invisible behind those glasses, and it’s a fucking _insult_ to me, because I saw you from _day one_ , Clarke. I _saw_ you, and you…” She lets out a frustrated groan and throws her hands up, starting to pace around the room in her disheveled clothes and mismatched socks.

“You only had eyes for Sky Princess. I mean, the way you were after the first interview—”

“Oh yeah, thanks for reminding me!” she cries, ceasing her pacing. “Thanks for reminding me of how I made a fool of myself—”

“—you can’t talk about seeing me, Lexa. Because you didn’t see _me_. You said you have a thing for a blonde reporter? Be honest. That was after you figured it out, wasn’t it?” Lexa stares at Clarke open-mouthed, her expression torn between incredulity and exasperation.

“Do you know when I first realized I liked you?” she asks once she’s recovered. When Clarke doesn’t respond, she continues with a roll of her eyes. “You were whistling something under your breath, and your stapler had gotten jammed, and after a few minutes, the whistling turned into a series of curses, and it was…ridiculous and stupid and _cute_.” Clarke blinks, thinking back, unable to remember this particular moment. “It was your first week at the Planet.”

“How long have you—”

“Known about the alter ego?” she finishes for Clarke, one eyebrow raised. “Since that night we were nearly kidnapped.” She smiles, looking down, hiding a faint blush. “I’ve been around you every day for months. I know the smell of your shampoo, I know your laugh, I know that you rub your neck when you’re nervous, I know that you can’t meet people in the eye when you’re uncomfortable, and I’m not _stupid_ , Clarke. Glasses and a hairband aren’t enough to fool someone.”

“They fooled everyone else.”

“Everyone else wasn’t really seeing you.”

“And you do?” Lexa nods, stepping closer, a determined set to her jaw.

“At first, I thought you would tell me in your own time. But then I realized you had no reason to, and I was so _angry_ that you couldn’t trust me, _frustrated_ because I couldn’t _do_ anything. So I tried to push everything away, tried to ignore it, ignore you, but you’re like an itch you just can’t scratch, and you’re constantly _there_ and you’re _you_ and—” She cuts herself off, but her eyes remain fixed on Clarke’s.

“I was going to tell you, this morning. But you ran.” Lexa swallows.

“Clarke, I—” But Clarke doesn’t allow her to finish—doesn’t need her to finish. Instead, she moves forward, backing Lexa into the nearest wall, pressing her against it before pulling her into a kiss, her heart racing yet beating in time with Lexa’s, the warmth spreading from her chest to her toes, and it’s like she can finally breathe. Lexa tugs on Clarke’s collar, trying to pull her closer, to close a nonexistent distance, and when Lexa’s fingers then move to scratch gently at Clarke’s neck and scalp, she lets out an embarrassing moan. She pulls away slightly, giving Lexa time to catch her breath, and is about to kiss her again when she hears the sirens. “Clarke?” Lexa asks, sounding slightly breathless still.

“I have to go. I hear fire trucks.” She takes a step back, needing physical distance because she thinks if Lexa keeps touching her she might just decide to stay. Lexa smiles slightly, straightening her even more disheveled clothes, combing her fingers through her hair.

“Duty calls, right Sky Princess?”

“I thought you saw _me_.”

“I do, Clarke. And the girl I’m falling for drinks her coffee with an absurd amount of sugar and _always_ trips over the small step at the entrance of our favorite diner. It just so happens she can fly across the city too.” Clarke studies her for a moment, just a little unsure about what she means. Before she can ask, however, Lexa steps forward, cradles Clarke’s face in her hands, and presses a slow kiss to her lips before pulling away.

“All I heard was ‘girl I’m falling for,’” Clarke says, grinning. Lexa rolls her eyes, but Clarke can tell she’s fighting a smile.

“God, Clarke. You’re such a nerd.”

(And for some reason, as Clarke shoots off towards the fire trucks, she feels lighter than she has in ages).

xxx

Thoughts of the green gem haunt Clarke that night, so the moment she deems it an appropriate hour, she calls her parents, neither of whom know anything about it. (“It’s not like you came with an instruction manual, kiddo,” her father jokes, and Clarke can hear her mother tut disapprovingly in the background).

When she gets to the Daily Planet, still obsessing over the gem that made her feel so weak, Lexa’s cubicle is empty, a sticky note on her open laptop reading that she’d gone off to chase a lead and would be back in a few hours. Clarke smiles slightly and sits at her own desk, staring blankly at a blank word document, unsure what to write for the Sky Princess piece (a piece, she’d been informed via text earlier that morning, that was up to _her_ to finish since she’d been so ‘distracting’ the night before). She’s debating on how much she should talk about her childhood, actively pushing away all thoughts of Cage Wallace and green gems, when she hears Miller start speaking in an angry whisper.

“All the gems, shoved into a truck, shipped to a new, unknown location.”

“Clarke went digging, they were just rocks, let it go, Miller,” Bellamy is saying patiently, but when Clarke peeks above her cubicle, she sees that Miller is shaking his head furiously.

“The rookie missed something. I’m telling you, there’s something up.” Bellamy rubs his eyes, shaking his head.

“Even if you’re right, there’s nothing we can do. If they’ve been shipped to an ‘unknown’ location, we won’t even be able to get in to see them.” Miller opens his mouth, clearly wanting to argue, but Bellamy silences him with a curt shake of his head. “Look, Woods and I were invited to the Gala in two days. I’ll look into it then, all right? The gems are supposed to be on display.”

“Two days is a long time, Bellamy. Who knows what Wallace is up to?” Bellamy just shrugs, and Clarke rushes over to him the second Miller leaves him alone.

“Hey, Clarke. How’s it going in paradise?” Clarke ignores his comment, watching Miller’s retreating back.

“He’s right, you know,” she says, leaning against Bellamy’s desk. “Two days is a long time.” She turns to look at Bellamy in time to see him roll his eyes.

“Like I said, I’ll be there—”

“—but that’s suspicious too,” Clarke interrupts. “Cage Wallace invited the two reporters he _knows_ are investigating him?” Bellamy frowns, his eyes narrowing.

“He invited a lot of people he doesn’t like. The police commissioner, Jaha, even Kane.”

“And that doesn’t strike you as odd?”

“Not really. These are important people, _rich_ and influential people, of course they’d be invited.”

“Fine. Is Tsing invited?”

“Yeah, but she’ll be in Europe for some sort of conference.” Clarke gives Bellamy a significant look, and he immediately catches on to her meaning, letting out a deep sigh. “Clarke, that doesn’t mean anything. Wallace Senior will be there. And so will Emerson.” His frown deepens and he gives Clarke a significant look. “I know what you’re insinuating, and it’s _crazy_. Wallace is a cutthroat businessman, but what you’re suggesting...no. It’s not possible.” Clarke nods, but her mind is on the green gem, on how weak it made her feel, on the device that Raven built and Wallace’s conversation with Tsing, and she realizes she may be on her own.

“You’re right, obviously,” she says, looking down. “It was a crazy thought. I’m going to take a walk, to clear my head.” Bellamy nods, giving her a strange look.

“Yeah, yeah, that might be a good idea.”

“Right. All right then.” She waves a little awkwardly and rushes off, not bothering to collect her jacket or her things from her desk. She wouldn’t need it anyway.

It was time to do some investigating as Sky Princess.  

xxx

She lands on top of the warehouse silently. After checking to make sure no one is in the warehouse, she carefully peels back the metal roof, then glides down, looking around cautiously.

Finding someone who knew where the gems were taken was easy enough. She went to the men who’d been paid to kidnap her and Lexa, and was gratified to learn that Cage Wallace didn’t have an unlimited supply of thugs—he merely used the same ones again and again. What was difficult was convincing the men that she would hurt them if they didn’t tell her where they took the gems (a complete and utter lie, because though they were terrible people, Clarke had no intention of hurting _anyone_ ). It was only when she threatened to drag them to the police station that they finally gave in, giving her information she _hadn’t_ asked for: “Which set of gems?”

The warehouse was situated near the river, on the outskirts of the city. It was out of the way and inconspicuous, used for storage by Wallace’s company for decades. It had been so nondescript, in fact, that when they had been researching Red Enterprises, the warehouse hadn’t struck anyone as odd at all. (Belatedly, she realizes that in of itself should have been the biggest giveaway).

Clarke comes to a stop when she finds the large crate from her adventure with Raven the day before. She pries it open, her eyes widening as she understands what the thugs for hire meant when they asked ‘Which set of gems?’ because the diamonds of various cuts and sizes in the crate are definitely _not_ the gems she and Raven saw yesterday. She’s comparing the photos on her phone to the diamonds in the crate when it beings to ring.

“I’m a little busy right now,” she answers when she sees the caller ID. A frantic voice responds on the other end.

“Clarke, where are you? They’re saying you’re a criminal. You’re being set up!” Lexa cries, but before Clarke can respond, the doors of the warehouse fly open, police officers rushing in, pistols out. Leading them is Octavia, her gun pointed straight at Clarke’s head.

“Put your hands up, Supergirl. You’re under arrest for attempted robbery.” Clarke hangs up on Lexa, putting her hands up as asked.

“This really isn’t what it looks like,” she mutters. Octavia edges closer, shaking her head.

“I don’t care.” She sounds personally offended, and Clarke has to wonder why for only a moment before Octavia speaks up. “I thought you were good for this city. Turns out you’re just as corrupted as the man you’re trying to steal from.” Clarke stares at Octavia, weighing her options. With a groan, she lowers her hands.

“This _really_ isn’t what it looks like,” she says, letting her voice carry. Then, without waiting for a response, she rises a few feet in the air. “ _Really_.” Before Octavia and her officers have time to fire, Clarke shoots out of the warehouse.

xxx

The Daily Planet is in a flurry when she returns. Jaha is yelling, spit flying out of his mouth and an unprecedented rate.

“Scrap the fucking childhood story, Woods. We’re going to go with the ‘crazy super madman’ angle instead. Griffin! Where the hell have you been? You want your first byline?” Lexa glares at Clarke, then turns to Jaha with raised eyebrows.

“Is that really the best idea? Sky Princess is my story—”

“—you’ve been writing about how great she is for months, Woods,” Jaha interrupts. “We need a new voice. Griffin? Can you do it? If you can’t, you might as well pack your things right now.” Lexa visibly stifles a groan as Clarke nods shakily, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Excellent. Excellent. I expect your first draft in an hour. Blake! Where the hell is Blake? I want him to interview Wallace. The fucking cable news has been running his speech for the last hour…” he trails off into an unintelligible mess as he walks back into his office, slamming the door shut. Clarke lets out a sigh, about to head to her desk to get started on her story when Lexa marches up to her and grabs her roughly by the arm, dragging her through the office and up the stairs. She doesn’t let go until they’re on the roof, utterly alone.

“What the hell, Clarke? What were you thinking? What if something had _happened_ to you?” Lexa shouts over the wind, her eyes full of a rage and terror Clarke’s never seen.

“I was thinking that Cage Wallace is up to something with the gems. I just wanted to see them again, take a sample or something. Besides, what would happen to me?”

“You could’ve been hurt! Or worse!” Clarke laughs, but judging by Lexa’s look, she doesn’t find anything amusing about the situation.

“Have you forgotten who I am?” she asks, laughing again. “I wouldn’t have gotten hurt.” Lexa steps closer, her eyes wide, full of a frantic fear that Clarke just doesn’t understand.

“You’re telling me there’s absolutely _nothing_ , no weapon, no material— _nothing_ —that can hurt you?” she asks, her hand reaching out slightly, as if she wants to touch Clarke to make sure she’s real and there yet somehow doesn’t dare to actually touch her (almost like she thinks Clarke is a dream and will disintegrate at the slightest of brushes). Clarke swallows, thinking about the green gem, the stupid rock that made her feel weak and powerless, that made her go clammy and collapse against the crate, and she shakes her head.

“No, there’s nothing, Lexa. There’s no need to worry.” The words break all of Lexa’s resolve and she surges forward, throwing her arms around Clarke’s neck, holding onto her tightly.

“I was so worried,” she mumbles into Clarke’s neck. “Octavia called me, going on about how I was an idiot for liking Sky Princess because she’d just been seen breaking into Wallace’s warehouse, and God, Clarke.” She burrows her face even deeper into Clarke’s neck, her grip tightening. Guilt slowly eases its way into Clarke’s chest and increases in intensity as she hugs Lexa back, letting the reporter sway her back and forth, unable to admit the truth about the green gem now that she’s seen how worried Lexa was about mere guns.

The guilt gnaws at her after Lexa finally lets go and continues to eat at her when they return to their desks, watching Cage Wallace give yet another interview on the cable news about the ‘menace that was Sky Princess.’ And when Lexa gives Clarke a comforting smile after Wallace demands on television that ‘the crazy wannabe vigilante’ turn herself in, Clarke feels a weight settle on her chest and shoulders, realizing that she’s just replaced one secret for another.

xxx 

“Hun, the news says you’re a criminal. You know if you needed money your father and I would have been happy to give you some.” Clarke rolls her eyes, shoveling more potatoes in her mouth, ignoring her father’s chuckles. She’d flown straight to her parents’ home after leaving work, wanting comfort, but most importantly, wanting to talk. She just hadn’t expected her mother to start the conversation before they even finished eating.

“I was set up,” she says through a mouthful of potatoes, her mother rolling her eyes at her table manners. “Wallace must’ve purposefully let people know the crate would be moved and then called the cops the second he got word that I was looking for them.” She shakes her head, putting her fork down and feeling her shoulders slump. “I underestimated him, let him get one over me. It was a stupid mistake.”

“Did you get a look at the green gem, the one that made you feel weak?” her father asks, his chuckles subsiding, a serious expression on his face. Clarke shakes her head.

“No, he must’ve switched them out or something. I was caught with my hands in a crate full of diamonds.” She pauses, watching identical expressions of worry appear on her parents’ faces. “On another note, Lexa figured it out.”

“How Wallace switched out the gems?”

“No, that I’m Sky Princess.” Her mother groans, but her father leans forward in interest.

“What’d she say?”

“That she was insulted that I thought she wouldn’t figure it out.” At her words, her father bursts into laughter, his shoulders shaking from the force of it, and even her mother is suppressing a smile.

“Honey, perhaps you should be more concerned with that,” her mother says, indicating the television. Cage Wallace’s face keeps popping up on the screen, the headline beneath his smirk reading, ‘SKY PRINCESS, FOE OF POLIS?’

“Of course he’s milking it. I should never have gone to that stupid warehouse.”

“Maybe you should just go directly to the source,” her father says, his expression suddenly serious, his eyes on the television screen.

“What? Go to Wallace and give him more fodder for this ‘Sky Princess is evil’ propaganda?” Her father shakes his head, a small grin appearing on his face.

“I mean go to the source—go to the pharmaceutical company.” Clarke blinks, turning to the television, listening to the newscaster drone on before they cut to Cage Wallace’s statement from earlier that day.

“I know the people of Polis are fond of Sky Princess, and I know this must come as a horrible shock. I too am _heartbroken_ ,” he reads from a card, his hair gleaming in the sunlight, his eyes narrowed dangerously. “That is why I swear to the people of this great city that I will not let some powerful _freak_ get away with this. I will work with law enforcement to _bring her down_.” He shakes his head theatrically, the small crowd that had gathered in front of his building cheering wildly. “Sky Princess will learn that no one, not even someone who can fly, is above the law.” The news program cuts back to the anchorman, and they move on to the next topic. Clarke swallows and turns back to her father, shrugging.

“Well, it’s not like I have a lot to lose.”

xxx

The first thing she learns about Tsing is that the woman is _neat_. Everything she does is calculated, ordered, carefully handled—even her clothes are completely on point, right down to her five inch heels.

The second thing Clarke learns is that she scares easily.

“Wha—what are you doing here?” she stutters, falling back against her desk, her eyes wide as she stares at Clarke (or Sky Princess). “The police are after you.”

“What’s Red?”

“I don’t know what you—” Clarke advances slowly, tilting her head to one side.

“I’ll ask again. What’s Red?”

“A drug!”

“ _Obviously_. What kind?” She swallows audibly, not looking like she is in a hurry to answer, though that changes quickly when Clarke takes another step forward.

“Recreational. It’s recreational.”

“What are you and Wallace doing with it?”

“Nothing! It’s just research into the addictive properties of heroin—”

“—I don’t like _liars_ , Dr. Tsing,” Clarke says lowly, glaring at the woman. “I want to know _everything_.”

“I’m not lying! It started out as research, I _swear_ ,” she adds when Clarke just gives her a disbelieving look. “But then we synthesized Red on accident. And it was nearly a hundred times more addictive than heroin, with a very high lethal dose.”

“So?” Tsing looks at her blankly, like she just missed the point.

“We created a highly addictive drug that isn’t likely to kill the user. It’s worth a fortune.”

“That’s a _lie_. You’re testing it on the people of this city, and they’re dying.” Tsing shakes her head frantically.

“We needed human subjects, yes. And we had… _setbacks_ , but—”

“—I wouldn’t call killing innocent people _setback_ , Dr. Tsing.”

“I know, I understand—”

“Why? Why are you doing this? Why do you need to aerosolize Red?” The blank look returns, except this time there’s a bit of incredulity as well, as if she’s annoyed by Clarke’s dullness.

“Money,” she states simply, as if she needed no other explanation. “And imagine when everyone, from the police commissioner to the journalists who investigate us, is addicted to a drug only _we_ can provide.”

“Where’s Red? Where’s the device?” Clarke demands, grabbing Tsing by the collar of her shirt, but the doctor is grinning.

“Sorry Sky Princess, time’s up.” Suddenly, Clarke realizes that the falling back, cowering against her desk, was all a ploy—she’d hit an alarm, and Clarke, so focused on getting the woman to talk, hadn’t even _noticed_.

Cursing, Clarke releases the doctor and shoots out the window, hearing the distant blares of the alarms, hearing Tsing ask hurriedly, “Did you get it? Did you get the photo?”

xxx

She’s on the front page.

The picture is slightly blurry, but there’s no mistaking it: Sky Princess holding well-respected Doctor Lorelei Tsing by the collar in her own office, a furious and heated expression on her face. If there’d been anyone who believed Sky Princess was innocent before, there wouldn’t be anyone left now. She tosses the paper down, walking to work with her head held down, feeling paranoid that someone would recognize her from the photo.

When she gets to the Daily Planet, Lexa is waiting by the doors, her expression utterly blank (and Clarke has known Lexa long enough to know that that is _not_ good). She follows the reporter silently, not altogether surprised when they find themselves on the roof again, the wind howling in their ears, throwing Lexa’s hair into disarray.

“What did you do, Clarke?” she asks tiredly, looking like she’d been up all night. “Tsing says you threatened her.”

“I just talked to her.”

“That’s not what the photo says.”

“Look, Lexa, forget the photo. It’s the Gala—”

“Clarke—”

“—we have to make sure it’s cancelled or something. They’re planning—”

“Clarke—”

“—the device has to be somewhere in that—”

“Clarke!” She finally falls silent, frowning at the way Lexa is looking at her. “Just stop.” She takes a few steps forward, but Clarke has never felt so utterly _distant_ from Lexa as she does right now. “There’s a warrant for your arrest. There’re a million conspiracy theories popping up, about who you are and where you’ve come from. Wallace turned you into a pariah, Clarke.”

“Don’t you get it? _I_ _don’t care_. He’s planning on using Red on everyone who attends the Gala, I have to stop him.”

“If you even come near the Gala, he’s going to—” She cuts herself off abruptly, and Clarke rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest.

“He’s going to what? He can’t hurt me.” Lexa looks down, then clenches her fists, straightens subtly (as if steeling herself for something), then looks back up, meeting Clarke’s gaze accusingly.

“You’re a _liar_ , Clarke. I was with Raven and Octavia last night, and Raven said you got sick while she was with you, searching through that crate.” She leans forward, her eyes dark. “You don’t get sick.”

“Lexa—” Clarke begins, uncrossing her arms and reaching out for the reporter, hurt when Lexa steps away.

“You lied to me. And if you lied about that, then…”

“What? You think I made this all up?”

“What am I supposed to think, Clarke? Is it more likely that you’re lying again or that Wallace is somehow trying to get rid of every single person in Polis in a position of power?” She shakes her head, her eyes full of tears. “He’s a shrewd businessman, a complete creep, but he’s not a killer.”

“You know me, Lexa. You _do_ ,” she stresses when Lexa shakes her head disbelievingly. “You have to trust me on this. You can’t go to the Gala.”

“You’ve been lying to me since the day we met, Clarke. So no, I can’t trust you. I won’t.” She frowns slightly. “You’ll have to earn it back. Promise me, promise me that everything you do from this point on will be _within_ the law. Promise me.” Clarke stares at Lexa for only a moment before nodding, not even bothering to think it through.

“Okay, okay. I promise.”

 

**Present day…**

“If I were a device meant to aerosolize a highly addictive drug, where would I hide?” Clarke looks through the walls as she mutters to herself, feeling uncomfortable in her dress.

“What was that?” Bellamy asks.

“Nothing. Just…pretend you’re happy.” He rolls his eyes, holding out his arm for her.

“Am I happy that my co-worker basically forced me to drop my date and take her to the Gala instead? No, I’m not happy.”

“This is work, Blake.”

“Oh yeah, Octavia told me about your theory. Who’s the source, Griffin?” he asks as the police commissioner and Marcus Kane walk by, deep in conversation. Clarke, still looking through the walls and vents, takes her time in answering him.

“If I told you, you wouldn’t want to help me anymore.”

“So it _is_ Sky Princess.” Clarke blinks, turning to look at Bellamy in shock. “What? You think it’s some big secret you’re close to her? I don’t think anyone supports her as much as you and Woods do.”

“Unfortunately, Lexa is not Sky Princess’s biggest fan right now.”

“Ah, explains why you’re here with me rather than her. Trouble in paradise, Griffin?” When Clarke just glares at him, he laughs, elbowing her good-naturedly. “Maybe she’s jealous of your love for Sky Princess?” Clarke snorts, shaking her head.

“I wish it were that simple,” she says, and that’s when she spots it—in the very center of the room, the colorful gems of all shapes and sizes are on display, and beneath that, there is a vent, a large metal contraption resembling the drawing Raven gave her of the device. “I’ll be right back,” she tells Bellamy hurriedly, rushing away, weaving between people, muttering insincere apologies as she heads towards the jewels. In the blink of an eye, Clarke Griffin the reporter is gone, and in her place is Sky Princess, people crying out as they point to her.

“Commissioner, she’s right there!” Wallace yells from a distance away, but Clarke pays him no heed. She reaches the gems and is about to reach through the vent and pull out the device when she feels clammy and weak, all her strength leaving her.

“It’s Sky Princess! Someone get her!” Groaning, Clarke ignores the green gem, right above her head, focusing all her attention on the task at hand. It takes several tugs, but she finally manages to pull away the metal vent, revealing the device. It is at that moment that several things happen at once: Someone pulls the fire alarm, people begin running about as the sprinklers turn on, a gun goes off, Wallace stares wide-eyed at Clarke for a moment before running in the opposite direction, and Clarke is suddenly aware of a sharp, terrible pain in her chest. She looks down, shocked to see blood.

She’s aware of falling, falling to the ground, water raining down on her face, and of a voice—a soft, gentle voice she recognizes, sounding more broken than she’s ever heard it: “You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”

And then everything is dark.

 


	5. Clarke Griffin, Clarke Griffin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we reach the end! This was great fun to write, I loved every second of it, and I hope this ending is okay. If you liked it (or if you didn't) comment! A huge thank you to emclainable (it was originally her idea, and it was brilliant so like, thanks so much). 
> 
> Hope you enjoy the ending, and thanks for reading!

“You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”

_“And how else would I use my powers?”_

_“I don’t know, take over the world?”_

_“Yeah, but I don’t want the world.”_

_“What do you want?”_

_“What everyone else wants, I guess. To be happy.”_

“Goddammit, how am I supposed to start a line if I can’t even puncture her skin?” She hears an incessant beeping, the continued complaints of a doctor, the bustling of frantic nurses.

_“Are you not happy?”_

_“I’m content. And for now that’s good enough.”_

“You’re going to be okay,” the voice says, the soft, gentle voice. “You’re going to be okay, you hear me?” She feels someone take her hand, squeezing it, speaking in hushed tones with someone else.

“ _What would it take for you to be happy?”_

_“I don’t know. I guess…I want to belong. You know?”_

_“To be accepted?”_

_“Yeah, but more than that. I want to feel like there’s a point. To feel…complete, whole.”_

“Clarke,” the voice whispers in her ear. “Clarke, please be okay. _Please_. I need you to be okay.” She wants to tell the voice that it’s all right, that a bullet can’t hurt her, but she can’t speak, she can’t move, and as it turns out—in the presence of a strange green gem—she _can_ be hurt by bullets. She drifts instead…

…only to wake much later, feeling something heavy on her arm, the room dark, the beeping silenced.

“Where am I?” she asks aloud, moving her hand. The ‘something heavy’ on her arm turns out to be a head, and the person it belongs to stirs, sitting up blearily.

“God, my neck,” the person says, the person with _the voice_ , and Clarke reaches out for her.

“Lexa?” It’s as if the one word is a shot of caffeine, because Lexa jumps up immediately, flipping on the lights before rushing back to Clarke’s bedside, her hair a mess, her eyes rimmed red, cheeks stained with tears.

“You’re awake. Oh, you’re _awake_.” She smiles then, reaching out to smooth back Clarke’s hair, a tender expression on her face. “You’re awake,” she repeats, as if she can’t quite believe it.

“What happened?”

“You were shot.” Clarke laughs, feeling a slight twinge of pain in her chest, remnants she supposes of the gunshot. “I saw you rush towards the gems, so I assumed you must’ve found the device.” There’s no reproach in her tone though Clarke did exactly what Lexa had asked her not to do, and Clarke wonders if perhaps Lexa just didn’t care. “I pulled the fire alarm, thinking it’d be best to get people out, but then there was a shot, and you were bleeding, and…” she trails off, her eyes on the ceiling. “You were unresponsive. A surgeon managed to get the bullet out, but they couldn’t cut through your skin to repair any damage, so they just sort of…taped you up and hoped for the best. And you…you were unresponsive.”

“Wallace?”

“He got away.”

“He’ll come looking for me, you know. He saw me get shot. He knows I can be hurt.” Something passes over Lexa’s face, but before Clarke can make sense of it, it’s gone.

“Then we get you out of here. Keep you away from him.” Clarke shakes her head.

“Actually, I have a better idea. Do you think you can get Octavia to do something without asking any questions?” Lexa snorts.

“Of course. She owes me at least a dozen favors. What do you need?” Clarke sits up, feeling a twinge of pain in her chest, fighting off the urge to rub it and add to the worry in Lexa’s eyes.

“Well, first, can you help me get dressed and get out of here?” Lexa frowns.

“You’re injured.”

“I’m fine.” The frown morphs into a disappointed look, but she nods.

“Fine,” she says, the single word sounding a tad harsh. “What about Octavia?”

“Convince her to post an officer in front of an empty room.”

“You want to trick Cage into coming here?” She bites her lip, giving Clarke an unreadable look. “I don’t even know your plan yet, but I don’t like it. Because it sounds like you want to use yourself as bait.”

“I was thinking incentive, but yeah, bait’s a good word too.”

“Clarke.”

“What?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Do you trust me?” Lexa purses her lips, swallowing hard.

“Are you keeping anymore secrets?” Clarke blinks a few times, thinking.

“I cheated on a spelling test in fourth grade. In college, I told a girl that I wasn’t into girls when she asked me out. She just, she had this terrible laugh—it was like a guffaw, you know? Hacking sort of sound. I came to Polis because I wanted to work with you, because I’d heard incredible things—” She’s cut off when Lexa leans forward, pressing her lips to Clarke’s, the action sweet, gentle, taking Clarke totally by surprise.

“I trust you,” she says quietly as she pulls away, her eyes alight with amusement and fondness. “But, God, you’re such a dork.”

“So I’m forgiven?”

“Yeah,” Lexa says, chuckling, tangling her fingers in Clarke’s hair. “But no more lying. Not to me.”

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

xxx

“There’s been no sign of Wallace as of yet,” Octavia tells the reporters, her hair pulled back in a bun, looking professional in her shirt and slacks, her badge hanging from her neck. “We believe he intended to use the device found in the ballroom to release the new street drug, Red, into the air. We’re not quite sure why he would do such a thing yet, but thankfully, he was unsuccessful.”

“Is it true that it was thanks to Sky Princess, the one the police department branded a menace?” one reporter asks, causing Lexa to laugh from where she sits. Octavia takes a visibly deep breath, and there’s no way anyone wouldn’t notice the annoyance dripping off her, even through a television screen. Bellamy chuckles lightly, walking away from the television they’re all huddled around, and answers the phone that hasn’t stopped ringing since the events of the previous night.

“Yes, Sky Princess did uncover the plans. We are very grateful for her help.”

“Is she all right?”

“I can’t comment on her condition—”

“So it’s true that she took a bullet to the chest?” Octavia swallows, and Lexa’s smile—wide throughout most of the interview—now slips off her face entirely.

“Yes, she did take a bullet to the chest. I can say that she’s still alive, though in critical condition, and everyone here at the station wants nothing more than for her to pull through. We owe her a great debt.” There’s a flurry of clicks from cameras, reporters all shouting questions at once, but Octavia just shakes her head, indicating the press conference is over. The program cuts off and the newscaster asks for a weather update.

“Thanks, Megan. Well, Polis, it’s a hot one—” Bellamy clicks off the television, a serious expression on his face.

“So she was right,” he says, clearing his throat awkwardly before continuing. “The lab from the police station just called, the gems were all Red. The problem is, there’s two missing.”

“He must’ve grabbed them when he ran,” Miller mutters, shaking his head.

“Probably. Thanks to Clarke’s pictures, we know that we’re missing a blue one, small, and a green one, about the size of my fist.” He shrugs, not looking over at Lexa, who’s paled considerably. “Who knows why he’d choose those two specifically. Maybe they were the ones closest to him, maybe he liked the colors. Either way, he has enough Red to make millions. He could sell it, get out of the country, start fresh somewhere else.”

“He won’t do that,” Lexa says, finally joining the conversation.

“We all know your theory, Lexa, but he’s not _stupid_. Why would he go after Sky Princess now?” Bellamy doesn’t speak up, but it’s clear he agrees with Miller’s assessment. Lexa just rolls her eyes.

“Because Sky Princess is weak right now, and Cage Wallace is _angry_. He’ll go after her.” There’s a pause, and then Bellamy turns, his eyes narrowed.

“You were right about everything else, Clarke. What do you think?” Clarke meets Lexa’s eyes, smiling slightly, quelling the urge to rub the spot where she’d been shot.

“Octavia’s already on it. There’s an officer in front of Sky Princess’s hospital room door.”

xxx

“Are you sure this is legal?” Raven asks, giving Clarke a suspicious glance  before returning to her work.

“Yeah, sure. Cleared it with Octavia.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Nope, I didn’t”

“I’m going to get arrested because of a nosy reporter.” Clarke looks up, vaguely offended.

“First of all, I’m an _investigative_ reporter—”

“—which is a nice way of saying _nosy_ —”

“—and second of all, you agreed to this. You were _excited_ for this.” Raven pushes the files in front of her away, walking out from behind Cage Wallace’s desk to stand next to Clarke and the enormous filing cabinet she was studiously going through.

“You never mentioned paperwork. Or breaking and entering.”

“Minor details.”

“Won’t be so minor when Octavia finds out.”

“Are you going to talk the entire time or are you going to help?” Raven throws her hands up in the air, sighing theatrically.

“You called me because I was the only one willing to break the law, right?”

“I called you because everyone else is busy.”

“I don’t like you, Clarke Griffin.”

“I don’t need you to like me, I need help finding out more about that stupid green gem.” Raven nods sagely, returning to her spot behind the desk, rifling through the papers strewn haphazardly about. It was obvious that Cage Wallace had been here, grabbing any incriminating files before finding some hole to hide in, but Clarke cared less about shady business deals and more about where the businessman had found the green gem and how.

“This is for Sky Princess, yeah?” Raven asks after a moment of silence, making Clarke look up in shock. There’s an undercurrent of seriousness to Raven’s tone, one that was missing before, and Clarke suddenly wishes the engineer wasn’t so smart.

“Raven, listen—”

“I’m not stupid, Clarke. I was there when you collapsed, and I heard about how with the _little_ time he had, Wallace chose that _specific_ rock. It’s the fucking scientific method. You observe a phenomenon,” she says, walking back over to Clarke. “You formulate a testable hypothesis.” She stops when she’s barely an inch away, her eyes boring into Clarke’s. “And then you experiment.” She moves and Clarke watches as Raven’s fist flies towards her face. When it lands, Raven immediately steps back, cradling her hand. “Aw shit,” she cries, though there’s a grin on her face. “Fuck, I was right. _You’re_ Sky Princess.” She laughs a little, and then looks at her hand. “Holy shit, _ow_ , you’re like a goddamn rock.”

“You can’t tell anyone, Raven.”

“Tell anyone? Are you fucking kidding me? If I told people then they’d ask you to do stuff and that’ll seriously cut into the time you have to do stuff for me.” Clarke narrows her eyes, and Raven laughs, flexing her fingers experimentally. “Don’t look at me like that. I was joking.” She moans, flexing her fingers again, letting out a few choice curses. “You know, mostly.” Before Clarke can say anything else, Raven points to the desk with her uninjured hand. “The green gem is called kryptonite. Some archaeologist dug it up in South America about twenty-five years ago. Weird, right? That’s about how old you are.”

“Shut up, Raven,” Clarke mutters as she picks up the papers, skimming through them.

“Hate my genius, if you must. But dear god, take me to the doctor, I punched a freaking brick wall.”

xxx

“No, you can’t be in there with him if there’s no way to protect yourself from the kryptonite.” They’re sitting together on the roof, sharing a sandwich, Clarke’s attention more on the streets below them than on the woman across from her.

“Then what should I do?”

“Take Octavia. Or any other officer.”

“He’ll wait for a moment that I’m alone, you know that. We need to draw him out, not scare him into hiding even deeper into his hole.” Lexa doesn’t respond, so Clarke mentions the first thing on her mind. “I broke Raven’s hand.”

“What?”

“She punched me. She has a broken middle finger. Told me it was karma’s way of saying ‘fuck you.’”

“Why did she punch you?”

“She figured it out, Lexa.” She sighs, turning to look at Lexa with a frown on her face. “How is my secret a secret if it literally takes people two seconds to figure out it’s me?” Lexa laughs, rolling her eyes.

“It’s not exactly rocket science. I told you already, anyone paying even a little bit of attention to Clarke Griffin could tell—you can’t hide your dorkiness.” Clarke’s frown deepens, but when Lexa grins at her, she finds herself fighting a smile.

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

“You realize I have to do this, right?” she asks, suddenly serious. “Wallace has to be left to me.”

“Clarke—”

“I’m serious, Lexa. Only Sky Princess can handle this.” Lexa swallows, turning away, her eyes on the cars honking below them, the bustling streets, the people milling about unaware of how close they’d gotten to having a highly addictive drug unleashed, changing their lives forever.

“You’re Clarke,” she says softly, pursing her lips. “You’re Clarke Griffin, the nerd in the cubicle next to mine. You’re Clarke.”

“I know. I’m the dork who’s also Sky Princess.” Lexa shakes her head and gives Clarke a sad smile.

“No, that doesn’t matter to me. Because what you can do, that’s all you. But the name, the superhero persona, I gave that to you, and Clarke, you never needed it. Does that make sense?” For a whole minute, Clarke doesn’t respond—doesn’t know _how_ to respond. But then, she looks away, rubbing the back of her neck, feeling uncomfortable.

“It’s you. You know? What makes me happy.” Lexa doesn’t smile, but her eyes soften, her expression so different from the usual glare and frown she sported that Clarke momentarily doesn’t even recognize her. But then Lexa shifts slightly so that their shoulders are pressed together and leans on Clarke, her hair tickling Clarke’s neck, and Clarke can smell her shampoo, can feel her heart beat, and the confusion passes.

“God, Clarke,” she says, her tone light, but the grasp on Clarke’s fingers tight. “You’re such a nerd.”

xxx 

The officer at the door is on his lunch break, the one sent to replace him detained by a particularly chatty brunette two floors down. And Clarke, Clarke is just waiting, sitting on the chair by the bed, for the first time uncomfortable in the red and blue suit, uncomfortable without her glasses. She doesn’t even bother looking up when the door opens.

“I told you,” he says without preamble. “I told you I wasn’t a good enemy to make.” Clarke looks up slowly, sighing when she sees him. His hair—once immaculately gelled back—is messy and in a disarray. His clothes are dirty, one of his shoes scuffed and muddy. He looks like he’s been through hell.

“What did you think would happen, Wallace?” she asks, raising her eyebrows. Cage Wallace steps forward. “Did you think I’d just let it go? Did you think you could discredit me enough that I’d give up?”

“They said bullets didn’t hurt you, and I had to come up with something.” His lips curl into a sneer, his hand moving to his right pocket.  “What’s funny is you could’ve gotten away. Just left once you realized I won. But no, you _had_ to be a hero.”

“Is this you winning, Wallace?” She looks at him, frowning. “For a winner, you look terrible.”

“You know what they’re going to find, Sky Princess? They’re going to find that Red Enterprises funded research at Weather Pharmaceuticals. They’re going to find emails between Tsing and the drug dealer the police commissioner has been so _desperate_ to find. They’re going to discover that it was an elaborate plot to get this new drug out into the streets, and that they used _you_ in order to make sure it worked.” He lets out a laugh. “I can see the headlines now: Sky Princess, the _hero_ of Polis, bought off by drug dealers. Sky Princess, the _hero_ of Polis, is actually just a thug, and she’s actually just dead.”

“You think you’re going to kill me?”

“Kryptonite,” he says, and he pulls out the gem from his pocket. If Clarke hadn’t been sitting down, she thought her legs would give way. “It’s just a rock to me, but to you, to you it hurts, doesn’t it?” He takes several steps closer, and then, with a grin, he presses the cool surface of the rock to Clarke’s forehead. She slumps forward, and Cage pushes her out of the chair, leaving her sprawled out on the ground. “When you showed up at the Gala, I thought I was done for. You’d found the device, the police seemed to be hesitating which meant at least some of them still trusted you, but then, I saw it. You looked _worried_ about this rock.” He raises the kryptonite slightly, staring at it with awe. “And then one of the officers took a shot at you—” Clarke groans, making a mental note to have a word with Octavia “—and there was blood, and I _knew_ , I _knew_ , I needed to get this gem.” He drops his hand and kicks her hard in the middle, and all Clarke can do is lay there, alone and too weak to defend herself.

“I won’t let you win.”

“But I already _have_ ,” he says, laughing and kicking her again. “Sold the last of the Red I had, I’ll kill you, and I’ll get away, disappear while things settle down and return a hero—after all, I’d been framed, remember?”

“No one will believe you.”

“I don’t need _belief_. Belief is for you, the _hero_ of Polis. Because people believe in you, don’t they? Trust you, like you, whatever. But me? All I need is for them to _buy it_.” He kicks her again, this time cracking her lower ribs. “You’re alone, you’re weak, and soon, you’ll be dead.” He reaches into his pocket a second time, the kryptonite in his right hand, a gun in his left. “Don’t worry, Sky Princess, I’ll keep Polis safe.” He raises the gun, his finger is pulling the trigger, and Clarke waits, unable to move, wishing she’d at least said goodbye to Lexa—wishing she hadn’t lied to her and promised she’d be all right. Clarke waits, closing her eyes, and waits for the gun to fire, for the pain to erupt, for the bleeding to start. Except, when the gun does finally fire, she feels nothing. She opens her eyes to see a brunette struggling with Wallace, trying to get the gun out of his hand. She opens her eyes to see _Lexa_ , Lexa who was supposed to be two floors down, who was never supposed to be here, who was putting herself in danger because Clarke was too weak to handle this on her own—too slow to figure out Cage Wallace’s plans, too blind, too dumb, too weak, too _helpless_.

The gun fires again, this time somewhere above Clarke’s head, and she hears Lexa let out a cry—of worry, of pain, of fear, she’s not quite sure—and her heart hammers away in her chest, sweat drips down her nose, fear and panic taking a strong hold of her.

“No,” she mutters, watching as Lexa continues to struggle with Wallace, watching as she knees him hard in the stomach, watching as she finally manages to wrest the gun out of his grasp, the weapon clattering to the floor and sliding under the bed. “No,” she says again, pushing herself up on shaky arms, ignoring the pain blossoming each time she takes a breath, each time she dared to move. She watches with horror as Wallace and Lexa both run for the gun, watches as Wallace reaches it, holds it up, aims, his finger on the trigger. “ _No_ ,” she says once more, somehow managing to get to her feet and pushing Lexa out of the way. She feels the bullet go straight through her shoulder, feels the pain erupt the blood gush out of the wound, but more important is that she sees Wallace on the ground, cradling his knee.

“Officer Jordan, arrest him, immediately.” Octavia’s welcome voice comes from behind, and Clarke allows her legs to give way. Instead of falling to the ground, however, she feels herself be caught, four strong arms pulling her up. “It’s gonna be okay,” Octavia whispers, but Clarke only has eyes for Lexa, Lexa who is safe, Lexa who saved her life. “We need to get her out of here.”

“I can take her.” They all pause, watching Jasper Jordan cuff Wallace, leading him out of the hospital room, crying out in pain each time his leg moved. Octavia turns back to Clarke and Lexa with a smile before pocketing the kryptonite that Wallace had dropped.

“I’ll make sure this never sees the light of day, Clarke. Don’t worry.”

“We have to go, she needs to be as far away from that gem as possible.” Octavia nods, grinning slightly, and though Clarke opens her mouth to speak—tries to tell Lexa that something is wrong—she feels her head loll to the side, and then everything is dark.

xxx

“I can’t believe you came after me.”

After leaving the hospital, Lexa had helped Clarke home, spent three days taking care of her, not once speaking about what happened at the hospital, only using the phone to fend off Abby and Jake’s concerns and Jaha’s demands for a new story. The TV was kept off, the newspaper ignored. Three days, for _three days_ , they weren’t Clarke Griffin, Sky Princess and Lexa Woods, Investigative Reporter. Instead, they were Clarke and Lexa, sitting on the couch their feet kicked up on the table, eating ice cream straight out of its container. For three days, life was simple, but then Clarke couldn’t handle it anymore.

“It was a stupid plan. You’re not a martyr.” Lexa’s words are harsh, clipped, her anger aimed at herself rather than Clarke. She swallows another spoonful of ice cream, looking determined to end the conversation here.

“I wasn’t _planning_ on dying,” Clarke muttered, unable to help herself.

“No, you just went into a situation knowing it was very likely you _would_ get yourself killed.”

“But I didn’t.”

“Because I was there. And Octavia was there.” At the mention of Octavia, Clarke lets her head fall back, letting out a long-suffering sigh.

“I still can’t believe she figured it out. You, Raven, Octavia…dammit. I can’t even keep my secret identity a secret.” Lexa chuckles, almost despite herself, and she leans forward to put the empty ice cream container on the table before curling up next to Clarke, her legs folded beneath her.

“Don’t worry, I think she’s impressed by you. She was the one who told me about your stupid ‘camera in the room’ idea.”

“It worked didn’t it?” Clarke asks, taking one of Lexa’s hands in her own, playing with her fingers.

“Yeah, it did,” Lexa says softly, and when Clarke looks up to meet her eyes, she finds she has nothing to say to the worry, concern, _fear_ that she sees shining in the green. So instead, she pulls Lexa forward, tasting the ice cream on her lips, wanting nothing more than to kiss away the doubts and fears. And when Lexa kisses her back, moving so that she’s straddling Clarke, her fingers brushing lightly over the painless scar on her shoulder, Clarke thinks she might have succeeded.

And it’s all she ever wanted, really.

 

> **Sky Princess Exposes Cage Wallace**
> 
> **By LEXA WOODS**
> 
> _Investigative Reporter_
> 
> Shortly after midnight, mere days after the Gala shooting, Cage Wallace was spotted at Polis General Hospital, sneaking into the room of Sky Princess, who was there recovering. Octavia Blake, the detective assigned to Wallace’s case, claimed that they expected it.
> 
> “We had a tip. We set up guards and cameras, to be sure we could keep Sky Princess safe,” she said, not commenting further on the tip. “Our priority was to stop Wallace.”
> 
> Though the entire attempted attack was caught on camera, Blake claims it will not be released. “It went into evidence, and that’s where it’ll stay,” she said.
> 
> Wallace, who has been charged with drug conspiracy, attempted murder, possession and the intent to distribute, had no comment, but his lawyer, Carl Emerson, released a statement earlier this morning describing his client’s intent to fight the “egregious and outlandish charges.”
> 
> “They can fight it, but the evidence is overwhelming. We’ve got people lined up, willing to testify against him,” Blake said, declining to elaborate.
> 
> Sky Princess was unavailable for comment, though she was spotted stopping a car robbery mere hours after the attempt on her life. In any event, it seems that Sky Princess is here to stay, something that the police department is thankful for.
> 
> “Listen, if an entire city turned on me I don’t think I’d stick around and keep helping it,” Blake said. “Polis is lucky to have her. She’s a super girl.”


End file.
